


Rumbuggery!

by Weasley_Detectives



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adventure & Romance, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Pirate, Alternate Universe - Steampunk, F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-12
Updated: 2016-07-06
Packaged: 2018-04-14 07:12:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 27,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4555479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Weasley_Detectives/pseuds/Weasley_Detectives
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When King Kold meets a grizzly end, the notorious Ginyu Force(™) are unwittingly drawn into a sinister plot involving the rapacious Lord Frieza, the beautiful Saiyan Ambassador, Bra Briefs, and even the capital's Supreme Governor/Monarcher of Monocles, Queen Dodoria.</p><p>In a desperate race against time, the Ginyus embark on a steam-powered adventure that will take them from the grass plains of Namek to the foggy streets of UnLundun, and a quest that will lead Captain Ginyu to answer some soul-searching questions, namely: does he really suit a handle-bar moustache, or should he opt for a more modest "Regent" style?</p><p>A steampunk parody of DBZ, replete with airships, automatons, locomotives, crackpot detectives in deer-stalkers, and so many Victorian stereotypes you'll think you're in an opium den.</p><p>(Recoome wanted to tell the story of the time he dressed up as a sexy Frenchman and seduced a mermaid, but we keep telling him that wasn't a mermaid - it was a manatee in a pair of Captain's best bloomers, and he was right pissed off.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Black Flag

**  
**

 

 **RUMBUGGERY**!  
The Black Flag

 

Gas lamps flared in the city of Scrum. They illuminated alleyways, pushed back the shadows, spurned the thieves and murderers, all of whom had been happily minding their own business before the thrum of a dirigible's steam engine rippled down the street. In Scrum, to be a thief or a murderer was as much a respectable profession as any other, like a doctor or a lawyer – although lawyers were somewhat further down the ladder of respectability and doctors are hard to come by (most end up stabbed).

King Kold was dying.

Or that's what they said.

Mind you, they said a lot of things. Jeice never knew which things to believe. Or who _they_ were. This required the ability to think outside the box a bit, or at the very least an attention span that was not continuously thwarted by reflective surfaces. But truth be told, Jeice was a few dragon balls short of a wish. The only subjects he had ever come close to excelling at were Thievery, Rumbuggery and Cow-tipping, all of which required little attention, a strong arm for stabbing, and the ability to sneak up on dormant bovine.  
  
Scrum Elementary had a very diverse curriculum that extended to Piracy, Horn-Swoggling and even for the adventurous few, _Haute Couture_ (he was no Burter, but Jeice did pride himself on his braid trims). When he'd been of age, Jeice had landed a nice apprenticeship in the Pirates Guild and sailed the world, gaining crewmanship aboard the notorious Captain Ginyu's airship, _The Merry Milk-Dud_. On his adventures, he had learned three very important lessons: never piss over the side of a ship during a squall, never trust a whore with a mono-brow, and never, _ever_ get caught. The Kold Imperial Family wasn't kindly disposed to criminals. The Kold Imperial Family wasn't kindly disposed to anyone, least of all themselves if the news of King Kold's poisoning and imminent death was anything to go by. Criminals, especially those who worked outside of the Guilds, put the gentry's nose right out of joint. They did not like the competition. And if the Kold Family did not like you, frankly you were sodded.

As far as he was concerned, he'd be better off interrupting the Captain's private time than winding up in an Ice-jin oubliette. (...okay, so he'd learned **four** important lessons.)

A throng of onlookers milled around the edges of the airfield as the royal airship drew closer, the carriage of its underbelly now hovering mere inches above Scrum's uneven, higgledy-piggledy mess of rooftops and cobbled streets. The ship looked like some kind of massive primordial beast bathed in shadow. The customary royal Ice-jin colours of purple, white and gold were now mostly replaced with black banners flapping ominously in the wind. All but one banner flying the royal colours remained at the stern of the ship, from which King Kold's profile gazed solemnly out. The canvas fluttered in the wind like a feeble heartbeat.

The airfield was essentially a large grassy square situated in front of a stately manor rumoured to house the youngest of the Imperial Kold family, Lord Frieza. What a gentleman of Lord Frieza's rank was doing on an island like Scrum in the heart of pirate-invested waters was anyone's guess. Official proclamations stated that he had been selected as part of a special committee sent by Queen Dodoria of Un-Lundun to "clean up" the southern islands, though all Frieza had really done was introduce capitol punishment via the introduction of institutionalised marriage.

Jeice stared at the banners of the not-yet-dead King. His noble chin was tilted high and his shrewd, black eyes squinted out at the on-looking crowds while the royal dirigible made its final descent.

"Blimey," Jeice whistled over the whirr of the propellers. "There's a chin you don't see every day. You could stick a whole doubloon in that cleft of Kold's. S'like a dwarf's buttocks, that is. Why's it noblemen get that cleft in their chin, anyhow? Is it somethin' to do with them being royalty, like how princes are born with blue blood and stuff?"

"Shut up, you dolt," Captain Ginyu snapped, which was the only way he ever replied to one of his rigger's idle curiosities. For an idiot, the boy thought too much, and a thinking idiot irked Ginyu more than anything. Any normal idiot would just point and grunt, but Jeice – he had a mouth on him. More than once, Ginyu had been tempted to sew it shut before it did some real damage, for thinking, he knew, was contagious.

There was a sound like rumbling thunder as Recoome pointed and grunted at the procession, which had come to a halt on the steps of the Royal Palace.

"Here, look. It's landed, innit," said the hulking man, with a second grunt for good measure. Recoome looked like the sort of person who swallowed ten ostrich eggs before breakfast and brushed his teeth with a wire scrubber.

"Very astute, Recoome," the Captain muttered, rolling himself a cigarette.

"Who in the Kais' names do you think managed to pull one over old Kold's eyes?" asked Burter, a tall lean Saurian who had the sort of physique that you could excuse him for walking about the place topless all the time. "Kold's a cunning old codger and make no mistake. Remember Captain Chicken? Queen Dodoria's peelers never could pin his murder on Kold. I wonder who got close enough to do him in…"

"Bet you anything it was Salza who got contracted," said the shortest of their party, a round, green-skinned Bas-jin who rather resembled a sprout with four eyes. "Slickest assassin in the seven kingdoms – everyone wants his number."

"Can't be that slick if everyone knows him," Burter observed lightly.

Jeice gave an exaggerated shudder. "I don't like that guy. He's mental."

Guldo sniffed. "Eccentric."

"Eccentric in a mental way."

"How many times do I have to tell you to keep that mouth shut?" Ginyu growled. "It doesn't matter who's poisoned him. What matters is who's up for the job after Kold's pushing up the daisies."

The Saurian nodded solemnly. "I sure wouldn't like to see Frieza on dear old daddy's throne. You hear the rumours about what happened to his brother last year? Nasty way to go, the acid swamps."

Recoome nodded. "Yep. Lemme tell you one thing, kiddies - with the King of the ring dead, swing time's over."

"Well he ain't dead yet, is he?" said Jeice.

Recoome looked at him, puzzled, then hummed thoughtfully (Ginyu glared at Jeice). "Well. Maybe he's just dead punctual?" He paused, snorted, then chuckled at his own pun and punched Guldo's shoulder. "Heh, _dead_. Geddit? Geddit?"

Guldo rubbed his shoulder and glared all four eyes at the giant, while Jeice retorted, "It's not punctual, mate. It's pre-punctual. It's flippin' morbid, is what!" It didn't cross his mind to think that morbid was a funny word for him to use, considering the line of work he was in often left his unfortunate clients whimpering, _'I-I'll give you all my money, just don't explode me!'_ "Seriously, what next? We all gonna camp out here an' have a countdown? Hold hands an' cheer 'hip hip hoorah, the bastard's finally dead'?"

There was a short pause while Burter, Guldo and Recoome exchanged looks.

"Well I'd be down for that."

"Can we get snacks?"

"I call marshmallows!"

Jeice paused, then shrugged with a grin. "Actually yeah, a'right. I'll get the crackers."

The alabaster walls of Lord Frieza's manor house glittered silver and gold under the light of the twin moons and torch-lit procession following on the heel of the airship. A purple flag was hung from the western-most tower at the same time a palanquin was carried from the airship into the stately building.

"It'll turn black when he's dead, right?" said Guldo, staring up at the flag hanging from the high window. "How long do you think he'll take, Captain?"

The Captain was silent as he stroked his comically large handle-bar moustache, his stern gaze fixed on the manor house. He liked to imagine he cut a rather solemn and enigmatic figure, caught as he was between the deep shadows and the flickering lights from the funeral procession. The moustache was working a treat.  
  
The Ginyus exchanged another glance. Their Captain was always trying on new looks. He'd been so furious with his last five Wanted posters that he'd tracked down the artist and fed him to a shoal of cantankerous and improbably large blobfish. Horrid way to go. Finally, Jeice coughed awkwardly and tried to fill the silence.

"I reckon an hour or so. Might place a bet down the bookies later, eh Burt-" Jeice squinted at the window. "Here, who's that then?"

A shimmersilk drape had been pushed aside for a pale, heart-shaped face to peer out the window at the on-looking crowd. She was beautiful, despite the grimace on her face. Her hair was long and aqua blue, and her eyes held a regal quality about them - the kind of haughtiness Guldo always aimed for, but just made him look like he'd sat on something unpleasant.

For a moment, Jeice thought the girl's eyes had met his for the briefest of seconds, before realising they were looking beyond him. The Captain? He frowned and cast a quick look at the Captain behind him, but Ginyu's hard eyes were still on the King's premature funeral procession meandering down the street in a thing, sluggish line. Probably looking to see if anyone had noticed his new moustache yet.

Burter frowned, raising an eye-ridge at his friend, half tempted to wave a hand in front of the smaller man's eyes as they flicked back and forth between the window and their Captain, like a spectator at a tennis match. "Hey, Jeice? You okay? I told you not to eat that thing at the back of the ship earlier…"

Jeice snapped towards him. "As if. Guldo barfed that up."

"I did not _barf that up -_ that was dinner, you heathen." Guldo sniffed portentously. "De-constructed Poached eggs and organic potatoes with savoury choux pastry." He gave Jeice a sidelong sneer with all four eyes. "That's _Pommes Dauphines_ , to you."

Jeice blinked. "What the hell does that even mean? You nicked some eggs, then couldn't be arsed to assemble them into something edible?" He shoved a finger into Guldo's face and snarled. "And who're you callin' a Pom, yeh four-eyed creep?"

" _Quiet!_ " Captain Ginyu threw the stub of his cigarette on the road and motioned to his crew. "Let's go. I'm not hanging around until that son of a bitch croaks his last."

"How about heading over to _The Tilted Wig_?" Recoome proposed, eagerly. "I have a thing for that little Launch girlie. She kept making eyes at him last time, right Cap?"

The Captain gave him a sidelong glance. "That's because you were chewing on a table-leg."

"And then she brought out that musketoon," Guldo added, miserably.

Recoome grinned at the memory. "Aw yeah. I love it when they shoot at me."

They left the bustling crowds, Jeice trailing slowly after them in order to catch one last glance at the girl in the window, but the drape had fallen back into place and she was gone.

He was so caught up in the empty window and the memory of the girl's shrewd eyes on the Captain that he failed to notice the changing of the flag from purple to black.

 

** **

  **oOo**  
  


King Kold lay stony and silent in his bed. His last breath seemed to echo throughout the halls of the manor house. Ambassador Bra, Princess of Vegeta, was kneeling by the king's bedside, her jaw set in a grim line. She was accompanied by her usual two handmaidens, but had refused the offer of a chaperone or guard.

It would be so easy to reach out and snap her neck.

Instead, Lord Frieza laid a hand on her shoulder. "A great loss to the seven kingdoms, my dear, but an even greater loss of the heart, I think." He paused for dramatic effect. "I can only hope to serve my land as faithfully as my father did."

He smiled, but it was not an endearing smile by any means; rather, it was the smile of a Scrum mugger, having just spotted a lonely merchant taking a short-cut through a dark alleyway that he knew came to a dead end.

The grip on her shoulder tightened.

Ambassador Bra pulled away, stepping angrily to her feet. "You might be able to charm everyone else in your self-serving cabinet, Lord Frieza – but don't think you can pull the wool over my eyes." She strode towards the door, her shrouded handmaidens hastily skittering after her, then paused, adding firmly, "If you think the throne is yours, you are sorely mistaken. I will personally see to it that Queen Dodoria puts an end to you if it's the last thing I do."

Then she turned and left the dead King's chambers.

Frieza's fixed smile slithered off his face and his red eyes narrowed at the now empty doorway. "It is a great pity when beauty is wasted on common women such as our dearly beloved Lady Bra. Perhaps she'll burn at the stake with a little more dignity."

"Indeed, Sire." The Prince's Right Hand inclined his head, then asked tentatively, "What do you think she could have meant by-"

"Isn't it obvious, Zarbon?" Frieza laughed bitterly, leaning down to clasp his father's icy chin between two fingers. "My dear father has managed to deceive me one final time before travelling on the long road down. He has planted a seed of suspicion in that girl's head which has led her to doubt my good reputation. No doubt she will gather intel and send a report to Un-Lundun imminently. And without Queen Dodoria's trust and formal concession," his expression contorted bitterly and he sneered at Kold's empty black eyes, "I will not be King."

Zarbon's delicate mouth opened in surprise. "But…Surely, my Lord is next in line for the throne? There are no other competitors, save for your son, and I am led to believe Kuriza is... no longer an issue. Ambassador Bra is merely attempting to corner you into a-"

Frieza raised a hand. "It will be dealt with."

Zarbon shifted uncomfortably on his feet. "But Sire, after your brother's disappearance and your father's death- if anything were to happen to Ambassador Bra, the people are sure to suspect a hand other than King Vegeta's…"

"Naturally." Frieza smiled. "Then we shall name one. Perhaps this will work in my favour, Zarbon. Ambassador Bra is a rising star in Queen Dodoria's court these days. Imagine how angry they'll be when they find her murdered by mysterious agents."

He bent down and laid a kiss on the King's brow.

"Perhaps even angry enough to start a war."

Cannon fire split the night to mark King Kold's passing, mixing with Scrum's soundtrack of musket ki-arms and pirates along the docks singing rude shanties out of tune.

When Frieza stood again, his countenance had changed entirely. He smiled brightly at his manservant and clapped his hands together. "Now be a dear and fetch me a glass of warm milk and an éclair. I know I shouldn't ruin my diet, but after all the drama of inter-family murder and intrigue, I'm feeling rather saucy!"

Zarbon bowed. "Yes, my Lord. But at least let me use skimmed milk."

"Oh, alright." A small pout formed on Frieza's lips, which was really unsettling to see on a man who'd just murdered his father. "Really, Zarbon. You're such a bore."

"True, my Lord."  
  
"You need to lighten up a bit."

"Indeed, my Lord."

"Do you have any family members you need disembowelled? We never do anything social together outside of work."

 

**oOo**


	2. The Tilted Wig

**RumBuggery!**   
The Tilted Wig

 

Nobody liked _The Tilted Wig_ , but they went there anyway because it was above ground (literally speaking that is; certainly not in any metaphorical sense). The whores did not smell of fish, there were only a few rats and if you needed to sober up fast it was very handy for the docks. This convenience worked twice as well if you needed to drown someone quick.  
  
_The Tilted Wig_ welcomed any and all patrons: changelings, Humans, Solians, Bas-jin, ghouls, ogres and even the occasional Saiyan, but considering Lord Frieza's presence on Scrum and the history of bloodshed between the Kingdom of Kold and the Kingdom of Vegeta, they tended not to hang around too long or, indeed, much longer than expected…  
  
The Ginyus frequented _The Tilted Wig_ and were just as frequently booted out of it. This night, however, the bald attendant at the bar was more engrossed in any news his customers might have of King Kold's imminent demise to notice their unwelcome presence; after all, he'd put forty credits down that the old coot would croak before midnight.  
  
The tavern room was packed with all sorts of uncomplicated beings doing uncomplicated things, like getting plastered and forgetting the words to sea shanties, but there was a definite buzz in the air tonight. Death was a favourite topic of discussion in Scrum and considering most of the local sports and daily activities revolved around it, this came as no surprise. Certainly, you didn't need to get a qualification or a job in the Guilds in order to be adept at dying. Anyone could do it. But a King dying – well, that was something special.  
  
Captain Ginyu led his crew towards their usual haunt by the fireplace. The Captain was a tall, horned figure of intimidation - or at least he would have been if you ignored the unnecessarily large feathered tricorn hat and the moustache, which was beginning to curl in at one side where the glue was becoming unstuck to his upper lip.  
  
A little pig-man was sitting in his favourite chair, ogling one of the passing waitresses. A shadow fell over him. He turned his snout upwards. Ginyu smiled congenially.  
  
"How kind of you to offer up your seat." He lifted the pig by the scruff of his neck. "Men! Buy this good pig a drink on me."  
  
"N-No, no, that's alright, Sir!" the pig squealed. "Just glad to be of assistance, your grace."  
  
"Ah, but I am nothing if not a gentleman. Proper protocol must be adhered to. Recoome!"  
  
Recoome leered. "Aye, Captain."  
  
He took the pig in one vast meaty hand and strode out of the tavern. There was a squeal. Then a splash. Then Recoome's large frame filled the doorway again, grinning toothily.  
  
"Sank like a rock."  
  
"Well he should have said he wasn't thirsty," said Ginyu, waving an airy hand.  
  
They ordered a round of drinks large enough to drown a small elephant and began discussing the King's rumoured assassination.  
  
"So you think it was a Bounty then, Cap'?" asked Burter, considered something of an intellectual amongst the crew because his tattoos were spelled phonetically.  
  
Jeice laughed. "You really think Kold shuffled off his mortal coil 'cause of natural causes? The Shenlong steam train could hit him full force and he'd barely blink an eye. Ruddy bloke's built like a brick-shithouse."  
  
Guldo shuddered. "Vulgar expression. What's a brick-shithouse anyway?"  
  
Jeice pretended to mull this over, before threatening, "S'where you'll be sleepin' tonight." He waved Guldo off before the other could interrupt. "Anyway, what's the big difference if he was killed by a bounty, or a big stinkin' cold?"  
  
"A big bag of cash," Burter replied.  
  
Ginyu pulled a pack of tobacco from his pocket and began to roll a second cigarette. "You can say farewell to easy times if that son of his gets the throne. Kold may have been a lot of things, but if it weren't for him there'd be no truce with the Saiyan kingdom."  
  
The floorboards trembled as Recoome's volcanic voice rumbled through the air. "Yeah, old Kold wasn't a bad kind of feller for a lean, mean killing machine. Kinda fruity, though."  
  
"You can't say 'fruity' any more, Recoome," Guldo chided patiently. "It's not PC."  
  
Burter rolled his crimson eyes. "We're pirates, Guldo. Nothing we do is PC. We come with a parental guidance warning."  
  
Guldo sniffed derisively. "We may be pirates, but that's no excuse for slanderous language."  
  
"It's every excuse, yeh dolt!" said Jeice, slapping him up side the head with the back of his hand.  
  
Ginyu's fingers tucked the tobacco into the paper and raised the completed cigarette to his lips, lighting it with a ball of glowing energy from his index finger. He breathed a thick cloud of acrid smoke across the table, then continued. "Frieza's always wanted to get his grubby little hands on Kold's throne. But killing daddy off so soon after Cooler's disappearance?" He took another puff. "You'd think that'd be too risky a move for him."  
  
"Maybe Frieza's getting desperate? Harder to shift him off his throne once he's on it. Besides, who would have the balls to convict Frieza of anything?" said Burter. "I mean he'll have his loyal followers at the palace back up north, right?"  
  
Ginyu nodded tightly. Not only did Frieza have tremendous political clout, but Cooler's disappearance had allowed the Lord to acquire full shares of Shenlong Locomotive Inc. This meant that any of the remaining six kingdoms who felt like flying the flag of justice against him would be risking their trade deals via the high-speed Shenlong locomotive; an ingenious feat of ki and steam-powered technology.  
  
Ginyu steepled his fingers together. "Hmm. There's always that Ambassador - the Princess from Vegeta. I'd wager she won't be too happy about Frie-"  
  
Several glasses clattered to the floor, smashing one after the other, their sticky, frothy contents flying in the face of a very irritable Ginyu. Jeice was leaning over the table, grinning stupidly and apparently unaware of the death glares Recoome and Guldo were sending his way due to the loss of their beverages.  
  
"A Princess? What's she look like? Is she fit?"  
  
"Don't interrupt my train of leaderish thought, you greasy cess-trawler!" Ginyu roared, slamming his glass on the table. "Now shut your mouth and get drunk. That's an order!"  
  
"Sorry, Cap'." Jeice winced. He was a ladies' man - beautiful women were his weakness, particularly beautiful princesses, but a wiser part of him knew that Ginyu had a tendency to deal out terminal and definitive retribution to anyone who disobeyed a direct order. He sat back in his seat, swallowing the remainder of his Namekian Snapdragon.  
  
"I heard that the Princess isn't even a full Saiyan," Guldo began. "She and her brother are just human half bloods. Apparently it was some shady deal the human lands made with the current King Vegeta. Can't imagine a woman being much threat to Frieza, though." Guldo gave a self-important chuckle and snort. "Kami, can you even imagine a woman on the Saiyan throne? Ha! Couldn't think of anything worse."  
  
Jeice glowered at him. "Ah could."  
  
Guldo's four eyes mirrored the glare. "Well I suppose you'd be a worse option."  
  
Recoome patted Guldo's head with one massive hand, and a teasing grin. "Recoome don't think you'd be so brave if you faced down Queen Dodoria, little man."  
  
" _Mrfufflemurph,_ " Guldo mumbled inaudibly into his drink, flushing hotly.  
  
"Hmph. Well," Ginyu waved his hands vaguely, apparently bored with the conversation now that it seemed his crew knew more about the topic than he did, "it doesn't matter. Kold's still alive, last I heard."  
  
"What?!" an amused elderly voice squawked croakily from behind him. "You young fellers ain't heard yet? His royal majester's dead as a bleeding doornail. His lights are out. He's ceased to be. Kold's popped his clogs, had his lot and shuffled off his mortal throne." The old man cackled. "He is an ex-King."  
  
Recoome blinked slowly, then turned to his fellow crew-mates. "He trying to tell us somethin' or what?"  
  
"Silence!" Ginyu snapped. His temper was rising. He did not like being shown up as a fool, especially by some old codger. "You there. Explain at once before I choke you to death with your own colostomy bag," he demanded, narrowing his red eyes at the ancient swaying figure sitting on a stool behind him.  
  
The old man propped his bearded chin on one clawed hand, cocking a wolfish grin that showed off more than a few missing teeth. A tail wagged behind him. Indeed, the old sod gave off the impression he'd be wagging a tail even if he didn't have one.  
  
Jeice narrowed his eyes suspiciously. He didn't like old people at the best of times; they smelled off, they talked too much, and they always wanted to pinch your cheeks. Also, their skin looked like prunes and had the texture of a deflated balloon. It gave him the willies. Still, something was particularly off about this one. Jeice didn't have much, but his instincts were sharp. Usually they informed him of the pub's happy hour, much to the delight of his fellow crew-members, but right now they were telling him something was absolutely, definitely, indisputably _wrong_ with this geezer.  
  
"Kold died about ten minutes ago, give or take." The old man drained his tankard of ale, spilling froth all down his bristly white beard, burped loudly, then raised the empty container to the bar. "Give us another round over here, cue-ball!"  
  
"It's Krillen!" the bar-tender snapped.  
  
"S'what I said." He turned in his seat to face a far more amiable crew (after all, a free drink in Scrum could turn your worst enemy into your soulmate) and stretched out a hand to the Captain. "Rum's the name. See you fellers are pirates. Well, that don't bother me none. I'm an information broker."  
  
"Oh yeah," said Guldo, a shade sarcastically. "And what does that involve?"  
  
He gave a loose shrug bony shoulders. "Mostly breaking people for information." He hiccuped. A young waitress laid the next round of drinks on the table. Rum picked up his tankard and stared at the bubbling contents with misty eyes (that could have been his cataracts though). "Course, it wasn't me who did the number on Kold."  
  
"So he _was_ offed?" Jeice whistled. "Blimey. Poor bugger."  
  
Ginyu leaned closer to the old man, pushed a gold sovereign across the table towards him, and lowered his voice to a mere boom. "You know who murdered him, then?"  
  
"I might do." Rum swayed and hiccuped again, though he kept one grey eye on the gold sovereign. "Then again, I'm very drunk. I might know a lot of things, sonny. Who're you again?"  
  
"If it was Salza, you can bet yer arse a bit of magic was involved. Ah mean," Jeice lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "they say he's a bit of a wizard, that one. And mental as a fruitbat."  
  
"He's not freakin' mental!" Guldo snapped peevishly, who had a secret shrine of newspaper clippings and signed photos of the notorious bounty hunter stashed under his hammock aboard the _Merry Milk Dud_. "He's eccentric!"  
  
"Eccentric in a mental way!" Jeice retorted, scuffing the Bas-jin across the back of his head once more.  
  
The old man picked his beaky nose thoughtfully. "I don't know about that. But then, I don't like magic much. In my experience, anything that can't be disposed of with a few good kicks is best steered clear of altogether."  
  
"You have a bit in common with the Captain," Burter muttered quietly.  
  
Ginyu sighed. He'd met Salza before. Certainly there was something odd about the man. He never uttered a single word, just looked at you through those two glassy blue eyes and that was enough. No mortal man should move the way he did. Really, ten minutes in the assassin's company and Ginyu had felt he wanted to crawl back home to his mother and become an honest, hard-working citizen again, because Salza's presence made your skin crawl in a way that made you want to scrub it clean from the inside out. Maybe Salza did know a bit of magic, but Ginyu had a sick feeling that was just an excuse.  
  
"Ish our pretty blue-haired Ambassador from Vegeta you wanna worry about, boys," said the information broker, slapping his thigh and clinking his tankard against Recoome's head with a dull 'thunk'. "See, from what I hear – and I hear a lot," he said, tapping a furry ear hidden under his wild white hair, "the Saiyan Ambassador has orders from our most eminent ruler of straight lines, Queen Dodoria, to keep an eye on Frieza. Which means you can bet a pretty penny on who'll be next in line for the chop…" Rum made a dragging motion across his throat with his hand, imitating a throat being cut.  
  
"Bugger me." Jeice shook his head. "An' here ah thought them royals had it easy. At the rate their dyin' off there won't be a single one left."  
  
The old man leered at him. "Well ain't that the point? Last one livin' gets all the power, amirite? An' well, that'll make things awfully difficult for the likes of you folks, won't it?" Rum's crooked old face took on a wily, sinister expression. "You can kiss goodbye to trading ports like these under Frieza. I doubt our most honourable of honourables likes to share his pennies with pirates..."  
  
The Ginyus' looked surprised; even Recoome, who seemed to have cottoned on to the current thread in conversation despite the fact that he had the attention span of a gnat when it came to anything that didn't involve wrestling, violence or one of 'Satan's Ten Penny Sensation' tales.  
  
Rum let out a bark of a laugh and slapped Jeice hard on the back. "Don't look so down, sonny! You probably won't face the noose for a while yet."  
  
The force of the old man's hand sent Jeice toppling off his seat into a passing changeling and started a fight, which took seconds to develop into a fully fledged bar brawl.  
  
"If anything happens to the Princess," Burter began, ignoring the bottles and occasional body flying over his head, "Queen Dodoria would definitely move against Frieza, right?"  
  
"Not if Frieza has someone else to pin her death on," said Ginyu. His expression was pensive as he easily dodged the unconscious body of an Arlian hurtling overhead. This wasn't good news. Also, he'd just spilt his drink over his best silk cravat - the one his men had embroidered for his birthday last month. "And you can be sure that odious little canker blossom will have something up his sleeve. Blast it all, this stain will take forever to get out."  
  
"Well, y'see-" Rum stopped abruptly. There was a blur, and a knife shuddered into the table where his hand had been hovering over the gold sovereign moments before. He quirked his toothless mouth at the hilt vibrating in the table. A Saiyan emblem merged with a skull and crossbones was engraved around its edge. Rum stood, swaying a little, and pocketed the knife, then smiled guiltily at the Ginyus. "Duty calls, lads!" He hiccuped. "By the way, your wee lad's being tossed about a bit in there," he added, jabbing a thumb at Jeice who was in the thick of the fight and using the bald barman as a weapon against the changeling he'd disturbed.  
  
Ginyu grunted. "Mmh, quite. With any luck they'll crack his head open."  
  
He watched with vague interest as the old man left _The Tilted Wig_ with a young purple-haired man, and a tall, spidery, Saiyan in black, his features obscured by the smoke from the lit cigarette at his lips. For a split second, the younger man met Ginyu's gaze, blue eyes to red, and Ginyu was powerfully reminded of the blue-haired woman he had briefly glimpsed in the window of Lord Frieza's manor.  
  
"Men," Ginyu said softly, which meant that his voice only echoed two blocks away, "follow that old coot."  
  
Burter and Guldo blinked back at him. They were the only two Ginyus remaining seated around the table beside him. Recoome was lost to the bar fight and currently gnawing on someone's leg.  
  
_"RECOOME SPECIAL VENOM BITE!"_

 _"OI, GER'OFF! THAT'S_ MY _LEG, YEH BLOODY GREAT BUFOON!"_  
  
Burter raised both eye-ridges at the Captain, surprised. "Any reason we're stalking an information broker?"  
  
"I didn't think he was your type, Captain," said Guldo teasingly, then added with a nauseated quirk of his lips, "I didn't think he'd be anyone's type…"  
  
"Don't be moronic!" Ginyu growled, turning his glass upside down on the Bas-jin's head. "We're out to investigate. My highly developed sixth sense and hitherto unsurpassed powers of observation tell me that damned O.A.P knows more than he should do. And that kind of information sells well on the markets. JEICE. Stop getting your ass handed to you on a platter and get over here! RECOOME. _Heel_!"  
  
The Ginyus tumbled out through the doors of _The Tilted Wig_ , Jeice sporting a swollen black eye and bite marks on his ankle, and Recoome minus a few dozen teeth.  
  
"Soon Recoome'll lose the whole set!" he announced with pride.  
  
"Yeh bloody will if you bite my leg again, _mate_."  
  
It was almost midnight. A thick sea fog was rolling in from the docks, filling the oddly empty streets of Scrum with a bitter, ghostly air. The drums at the manor house had changed to a steadier, sadder beat, and the royal dirigible looked like a great beached whale, still as the grave and bereft of life. There was no sign of the intoxicated information broker, nor of the young purple-haired man and his spidery Saiyan partner.  
  
"Cap', yeh don't think we should... y'know, check out Frieza's manor house or somethin'?" Jeice asked, swallowing a mouthful of blood and gagging slightly.  
  
Ginyu stopped in his tracks, turned and stared so intensely at his rigger's bloody face that Jeice began to sweat. "And why on earth would we do that?" he said in a tone that threatened interminable agony.  
  
Guldo sniggered from the sidelines, always happy to see Jeice earn a nice beating or two from the Captain.  
  
"Well…" Jeice trailed off. This was certainly a first for him. He'd never lost his tongue before. The problem was he didn't know why he had suggested it to the Captain, either. His instincts had never felt this sharp before. Maybe he was sick? At length, he feebly offered, "To... pay our respects?"  
  
A vein on Ginyu's forehead throbbed with barely contained rage. Jeice was only saved from an early demise by Recoome's sudden high-pitched squeal. The Ginyus watched in surprise as the hulking man spun around, grabbed Burter by the throat and punched him square in the jaw.  
  
"Recoome ain't into no sissy stuff, you got that?!"  
  
"What the Hell are you talking about?!" Burter grimaced, rubbing his aching jaw. "And what did you go and punch me there for? That's my _face_."  
  
"I was being thoughtful," Recoome growled back, clenching his fist for another punch. "There's plenty worse places Recoome can think of punchin', so grab my arse again and you're gonna be hurtin' all too-"  
  
"Grab your arse?" Burter repeated, in disbelief. "I didn't grab _anything_."  
  
Recoome scowled. "Well someone did! Captain!"  
  
Ginyu sighed. "I'd rather not discuss the subject of your posterior, thank you."  
  
Guldo gasped in horror. "What is that?"  
  
"Bloody 'ell, Recoome!" said Jeice, turning the larger man around by the elbow. "Yeh've got a bleeding arrow stuck in yer arse, yeh half-wit!"  
  
"Oh." There was a long pause as the Limbic system in Recoome's brain began to process the information his buttocks was sending it. "…Owe."  
  
"There's a note attached." Jeice unravelled the parchment from the arrow and began to attempt to read. "Deer Sirs. Deer? Funny way to start a letter. Think they shot at the wrong arse, Cap'?  
  
"Give me that!" Ginyu snatched the parchment from his rigger's hands and read in silence, lips moving wordlessly. Eventually, he said, "It's a summons."  
  
"To where?" Burter asked, taking the parchment for himself, being the only other Ginyu with reading skills.  
  
"Frieza's manor house," Ginyu replied, looking uncharacteristically troubled. "They've got a job for us."

 


	3. The Princess

 

  


**RumBuggery!  
** The Princess 

 

  
Scrum was infamous throughout the world as the mercantile capital of the Southern isles, an archipelago of twenty or so islands forming a semi circle known as The Crooked Nook. Running through the centre of the metropolis was the river Mourn, the most polluted waterway on the island, whose mouth opened onto the Great Sea that divided Kold's kingdom to the North and the reputed barbarian kingdom of the Saiyans in the South.  
  
Eventually all the hard-headed heroes and villainous sorcerers of the world would pass through Scrum, a frequent setting for dodgy dealings and iniquitous activity. Of course, most of the heroes who entered Scrum tended to leave a criminal (or minus a pulse).  
  
One such hero was standing on a hilltop overlooking the city, looking windswept and generally very dashing in his concealing dark cloak and hood. He appeared to be looking at Lord Frieza's manor house with considerable interest. The house was situated north of the River Mourn, a glittering jewel in an otherwise grotty medieval city reeking of manure and other pungent smells better left a mystery.  
  
Behind him, two figures stood waiting. The taller of the two was definitely a Saiyan; all long spidery limbs and clad entirely in various shades of black. Over his arm was slung a nasty looking sickle and chain that rather suggested he wasn't visiting for a holiday. A lit cigarette slowly burned at his lips.  
  
His shorter partner was gnawing on a chicken leg and leaning on what looked like a very large and ancient stone hammer, inscribed with little squiggles and lines that were most likely runes of some sort. She huffed impatiently, tearing into the bone. A dramatic windswept hilltop was not the place for someone suffering a horrendous hangover. Neither did she enjoy long, drawn-out silences as her companions appeared to.  
  
"Ookami?" said the cloaked man.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"You said you met the Ginyus last night."  
  
"Yeah.Well, they sure resembled the wanted posters. I was incognito. Mighty fine performance if you ask me." They didn't. "The Ginyus came into _The Tilted Wig_ around eleven, just after Kold croaked." Finishing her breakfast, the woman called Ookami tossed the meat-stripped bone to the grass. "Frieza's hired them at the manor house for a job – bodyguards for Ambassador Bra. I would've got more chat out of them too, if it weren't for you two monkeys showin' up early."  
  
The black-clad Saiyan stirred and narrowed his already narrow eyes to mere slits. "You were the one flapping your wrinkled gums off, dog."  
  
"Saku, if you please." She tapped her nose conspiratorially. "Tricks of the trade, my tailed friend. I was trying to gain Ginyu's confidence. Hard job. He's one shrewd bastard."  
  
"Then he'll likely know a ruse when one presents itself." The cloaked man pulled back his hood, revealing a young and irritatingly handsome face, framed by curtains of purple hair. "Suspicions over Kold's death and Cooler's disappearance are already rising. Frieza will want to cover his tracks and make himself look good by being seen to actively protect my sister."  
  
"Right, right," said Saku, waving an airy hand, "and when she's offed- sorry, sorry - _if_ she's offed, Frieza will cover his tail by framing the Ginyus."  
  
"And it's likely he'll plant evidence suggesting Ginyu is working for King Vegeta," the tall Saiyan added, breathing a cloud of smoke over her head. He coolly ignored her spluttering. "I think Frieza's looking to start a second war. That'd explain why he's here on Scrum. Much easier to plan an illegal war in a rancid nest of trash."  
  
"My father certainly wouldn't complain if that's what Frieza plans," the younger man conceded, bowing his head. "He lives for war."  
  
The Saiyan raised a thin black eyebrow. "What you're doing could be considered treason, my Prince."  
  
The man turned his gaze away. "I know that. But maybe there's still a chance of resolving this situation peacefully and saving my sister's stubborn tail before we return home."  
  
Saku eyed the young man doubtfully. If he and his Saiyan accomplice entered the city it was unlikely either would return to Vegeta at all, unless Frieza had the decency to drown them and sent them floating home. As a rule, she did not like heroes. The heroes she had encountered were always brooding, suicidally gloomy, and no fun on a night out. They never forked out for a round. The half-Saiyan, Prince Trunks, seemed to fit this bill perfectly.  
  
Heroes were terrible employers.  
  
"You think this is a bad idea," Trunks stated, catching the look on her face.  
  
"Of course not," she lied easily. "Just a walk in the woods."  
  
His icy gaze hardened. "Then if I were you I'd sue my face for slander."  
  
"By woods I meant the lava pits," she corrected herself, grinning shamelessly.  
  
Trunks did not smile. "I don't know why my mother recommended you as our guide, you flea-bitten dog, but the gold I've paid you had better ensure you carry out the job description," he said importantly, all haughty royal tones. "One foot out of line and I'll slit your throat myself."  
  
"I thought Princes were supposed to be charming," she muttered jadedly.  
  
He gave her a measured stare, then folded his arms haughtily. "I'm not your typical Prince."  
  
"Of course you're not." She rolled her eyes and shifted her weight against the hammer. "They never are."  
  
"We're only here for one thing," said Trunks, turning his gaze back to the Manor house. "Frieza wants that throne. I'm here to see he doesn't get it," he growled. "Whatever the cost."

  
**oOo**

  
Often, and for no discernible reason whatsoever, you will meet a person who you take such an instant dislike to that driving a nail through your hand seems almost preferable to shaking theirs. Jeice was experiencing that feeling right now.  
  
Zarbon smiled, but with his mouth only. It wasn't a welcoming smile. In fact, it looked like he'd just swallowed a pint of turps. Jeice rather hoped he had.  
  
He noted Captain Ginyu didn't look too impressed with their welcome party either, though that might have had something to do with the number of crossbows currently pointed at their heads. Still, Ginyu had that look of wary suspicion he got whenever an academic was around, and Zarbon was most certainly an academic; he practically reeked of words. Jeice glowered. It was the first time he had met an academic face to face before, not counting Burter of course – but then Jeice's idea of an academic was someone who could think without moving his lips.  
  
"The Great Captain Ginyu and his group of merry buccaneers, I presume?" Zarbon drawled, with a humourless smile. "Naturally your reputation precedes you."  
  
"Naturally," Ginyu replied, levelly. His moustache (currently imperial style) twitched irritably.  
  
Zarbon raised his chin, regarding the ragtag group of mangy pirates before him with eyes as small and hard as gold beads. Vaguely, he waved a be-ringed hand to the soldiers stationed around the palace audience room. Instantly, they lowered their weapons and filed out of the room, leaving Zarbon alone in the company of the Ginyus.  
  
"You will of course be wondering why it is my Lord has summoned you here. I confess, I have voiced my concerns over this decision, but it appears you come quite highly recommended." He procured a rolled parchment from inside his robes and read, "Rum-running, piracy, murder, arson… the theft of Princess Snake's prized golden goat."  
  
A shrug of massive shoulders. "Recoome was hungry."  
  
"Quite." Zarbon cleared his throat delicately. "In any case, you have proven yourself incredible, though perhaps slightly misguided, warriors. No doubt you will have heard the sad news of the King's passing."  
  
"It came to my attention, yes," said Ginyu.  
  
"Hmm. What you may not know is that we are treating the King's death as highly suspicious."  
  
"That so."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Quite."  
  
"Indeeed."  
  
Jeice glanced from Zarbon to his Captain. Some invisible battle of wills was being fought between them. The tension in the air was almost tangible and more than a little ridiculous.  
  
"We have of course the finest soldiers guarding my Lord Frieza night and day, however, our dear Ambassador Bra is our main concern, being that she is also a member of the Saiyan royal family," Zarbon explained.  
  
"Feh. And just why would _you_ want to protect her?" scoffed Guldo. "She's a Saiyan after all. Well, half of her is."  
  
"The late King Kold held Lady Bra in the very highest esteem. She is a valuable cog in Queen Dodoria's courts and has done great work in forging relations between the Northern and Saiyan lands. We cannot afford any harm to come to her. And here I come to my point. Now please listen very carefully," said Zarbon amiably, "otherwise we shall have to kill you. Which would be a shame. We've just had the floor waxed and it would be a great pity to dirty it."  
  
"Understandable," Ginyu conceded, jaw tight. "A finely waxed floor is a man's pride."  
  
Zarbon inclined his head. "I'm glad we see eye to eye."  
  
Jeice was now positive Zarbon had about twenty-two seconds to live. He'd seen the veins on the Captain's head swell with rage, but he'd never actually heard them pop before, and the waxed tips of his imperial moustache were starting to curl with barely contained rage.  
  
"You are to be employed as bodyguards for the Ambassador until the perpetrators behind the King's death are found, hanged and tried," said Zarbon. "You may of course leave the manor grounds any time you like, but I would not attempt to leave the island. You won't get far."  
  
"And what is our payment?"  
  
"Your lives."  
  
"Good deal, Captain," Burter muttered beside him.  
  
Ginyu spluttered, moustache bristling at the indignity offered him. "It doesn't look like we have much of a choice now, does it, Mr Zarbon?" he said at length. "Where is this esteemed Golden Sovereign Ambassador wonder-Princess? I'm sure the boys and I would love the honour of humbly basking in her radiant, opulence."  
  
The Ginyus sniggered, but a small smirk also lit Zarbon's eyes. "I'm glad you asked. It will be my pleasure to introduce you right away. Follow me."  
  
Grudgingly, the Ginyus followed Zarbon's lead, clumsily slipping and sliding their way across the polished marble floor of the entrance hall, up one grand flight of stairs and through a labyrinth of criss-crossing richly decorated corridors that made Jeice realise even if he wanted to bolt for it, he wouldn't be able to find his way out again. Bolting was the last thing on his mind, regardless. Recoome, Burter and Guldo looked positively miserable, but Jeice could barely keep the grin off his face. This was sheer luxury! And blimey, body-guarding a Princess day and night (particularly night)? He was pretty sure this was one of the plots of those romantic paperback novels Recoome kept stashed in his cabin.  
  
"You're drooling-" Guldo remarked.  
  
Jeice glowered. "Whatsit to you?"  
  
"-onto my head, you reprobate!"  
  
Zarbon's heels clicked sharply along the polished marble floors, his long hair gleaming emerald green beneath the cool gaslight. He wore his hair long and tied back in a style far more suited to the high fashions of UnLundun rather than the backwater islands he currently inhabited under Frieza's employment. Indeed, Lord Frieza's palatial residence was worlds away from the damp floorboards and barnacled rooftops of your typical Scrum residence. Here, no expense was spared. Luxurious paintings adorned every wall, and creamy marble busts of historical rulers were showcased on intricately carved plinths. Recoome started when they turned one corner and came face to face with an enormous gold and lapis-encrusted sarcophagi of Beerus, the imposing God of Chaos. Each hallway they walked through was outfitted with every possible modern convenience. The latest in gas lighting had been installed, and one hall boasted a selection of polished bronze machinery. It took both Burter and Jeice to prise Guldo's greedy hands away from a complicated looking model of an aquatic velocipede. As they neared what Jeice had roughly worked out to be the north-most wing of the house, an eerie looking tapestry caught his eye: a floor to ceiling portrait of Emperor Chilled, the famous warlord who had wiped out half the Saiyan race one hundred years ago.  
  
They came at last to a set of double doors intricately carved and featuring a pair of ornate golden handles in the centre. Zarbon rapped on the door once, then entered without waiting for admittance. Jeice's stomach made an Olympic flip. A lean, blue-haired girl was sitting with two equally pretty handmaidens in the middle of a very large, but modestly decorated audience room.  
  
"Close your mouth, you muskrat of a cheeseblock," Ginyu ordered shortly. "You're in the presence of a lady."  
  
"Ambassador, if you don't mind," prompted the Princess, then turned to her handmaidens. "Pan, Marron, please excuse us."  
  
The handmaidens bowed and left the room.  
  
"I think I will excuse myself too, my Lady," said Zarbon, with a short incline of his head. "I also think it prudent to allow you time to get to know your bodyguards. Please call if you need any assistance." He turned to the Ginyus. "I shall send someone down to escort you to your rooms shortly."  
  
"We're staying here?" Guldo squawked, a greedy light in his four eyes, salivating at the thought of rubbing shoulders with the obscenely rich. "Finally, I'm moving up in the world!"  
  
Zarbon smiled. "I shall see myself out. Good night, my Lady. I hope we have not interrupted your preparations for bed."  
  
Bra smiled sweetly. "Not at all, Mr Zarbon. Good night."  
  
The door closed. The smile dropped from the Princess's blue eyes like a rock. A dark, angry shadow crossed her face as she snapped her head towards them.  
  
Jeice took his opportunity, stepping forwards and sweeping her hand up to his mouth with the most dashing smile he could muster.  
  
"Glad t' be of service, m'lady. I'm Jeice, but you can call me anythin' you like." He winked and swished his long dark hair over one shoulder. "And may ah say you have, like, the classiest boobs I've ever seen in my life. If I could compare them to a summer's day-" Fortunately, Ginyu's hand found the back of Jeice's skull, the force of the blow doubling him over and slamming his teeth down on his tongue so that the rest of his sentence was a mouthful of jumbled words travelling on a spray of saliva.  
  
Bra scowled at him and wiped the spittle from her face with one delicately silk gloved hand.  
  
"One more romantic word out of you and I'll hang you off the port bow, do you hear me?!" Ginyu bellowed.  
  
"Wes, Cap'wn," Jeice squawked, rubbing his bitten tongue. "Sowwy, Cap'wn."  
  
"And stop that sycophantic blubbering too. Have you no mind of your own?!"  
  
"No, Cap'wn. I mean wes, Cap'wn! Ah mean ...uh...wha?"  
  
Ginyu sighed jadedly. "Bilge slobbering sod."  
  
Jeice brightened. "Cheers, Cap'n."  
  
Recoome leaned closer towards the ambassador and whistled through rows of broken teeth. "Whoa, sure are a looker, girlie. But you ain't like no Saiyan Recoome's ever seen."  
  
A hand slammed against a wall. Bra looked positively livid. "Do you honestly take me for a complete and utter fool?! I know what you are. Your pirates – _assassins_. Don't you dare come here thinking I'm just a drop dead gorgeous pushover who will readily roll over into my grave like those unfashionable clods before me. I will not let that twisted puffed up lizard start a war and you will not stand in my way!" she shouted, her words coming out like white hot lashes. "And if you think for one second that I'm going to allow a bunch of jumped up, greasy, drivelling, rum-loving, badly dressed imbeciles follow me around night and day-"  
  
"B-Badly …dressed…" Ginyu choked, his face turning violet. "How DARE you-!"  
  
"-you have another thing coming! And believe me, if you so much as glance in my direction; if you so much as BREATHE near me, nothing Zarbon or Lord Frieza could ever dish out will come close to the physical and mental torture I shall personally put you through."  
  
"NOW JUST A MINUTE." Ginyu hollered, slamming his fist down on a dressing table so hard that it shattered into thousands of splinters. "I'M the Captain here, so I do all the shouting! Rest assured I have no doubt that your mere company is physical and mental anguish enough and preferable to the pits and the ring combined, but WE have a job to do and Captain Allardyce Aquinus Archibald Ginyu never goes back on his word. _SAVY?_ " He wrenched open the bedroom door. "Good night, your HIGHNESS," he bellowed, then slammed the door shut so hard behind him that the gaslight fitting in the room came crashing down on Recoome's head.  
  
The remaining Ginyus were left standing in the room, fidgeting uncomfortably. An eerie, forbidding silence had filled the Ambassador's audience chamber.  
  
"Hmm. Yes. Well…" Guldo began, glancing around. "Like what you've done with the place."  
  
The Ambassador seethed. Dark energy seemed to crackle around her, turning her hair static.  
  
Burter swallowed thickly. "We'll …just…get out of your hair now. But we'll be around, so, er, call if you need us…just in case you think anyone's trying to murder you."  
  
"Not that we think anyone would want to!" Guldo piped in, quickly.  
  
"Recoome might," he grunted, removing the chandelier from around his head.  
  
Jeice loosed a nervous laugh and plastered his hand over the large man's mouth. "Ha! The big guy 'ere likes to joke. I mean, who'd possibly wanna kill you, eh? Eh??" He attempted another winning smile and earned himself the kind of look that meant leaving the room fast would lengthen his lifespan by a considerable number of years.  
  
The Ambassador's right eye twitched, her fist clenched; there was another snap of energy in the air and suddenly any lingering doubts anyone had that the Princess was half-Saiyan disappeared.  
  
In one synchronised movement, the Ginyus made a mad dash for the door, wrenching it open and leaping into the corridor in a heap of limbs.

 

**oOo**


	4. Rum the Dawg

**RumBuggery!  
** Rum the Dawg

 

 

Evil is debatable.

Where evil is prescribed to one course of action by one fellow, another will undoubtedly prescribe upon it an act of necessity; of meaning or good will. Those men and women deemed evil by one party are heroes to another.

Lord Frieza was nobody's hero. Lord Frieza was well aware of what he was. And frankly he wouldn't have it any other way. Good individuals, he had observed, were ruled by a set of lofty truths and socially prescribed morals, which were notorious for getting in the way of business, important red-tape matters and the tricky assassination of family members, particularly those next in line for the throne. When it came down to it, morals and truths were merely fancy fictions dressed up in an insipid and overly constricting cravat.

Lord Frieza was perfectly content with what he was. He might have called himself happy, had he the stomach for happiness. He enjoyed his own thin, frosty smile, but could not abide evidence of happiness on his subjects' faces. Happy people, he thought, were tediously dull, for happy people lived purely for the present with no thought or care for meticulous scheming and planning for a future in which his royal profile was stamped on every doubloon from Scrum to UnLundun. Frieza often had these few happy individuals shot on sight.

He stepped over the recumbent body of one such previously happy subject, beckoning with a slight nod of his pale head for Zarbon to fall into step.

“Our guests are settled then?”  
  
“Yes, My Lord. I had Cui direct them to their chambers after dinner. But I must confess…” Zarbon stopped himself.  
  
Frieza turned his small red eyes towards him. “Yes?”  
  
“Nothing, my Lord. A mere slip of the tongue.” Zarbon had learned that voicing your own opinions around Lord Frieza very quickly got you fired. Usually out of a canon. Still, Zarbon could not stop his upper lip from curling in distaste at the thought of the Ginyu pirates and their infamous Captain.  
  
Frieza chuckled. “My dear man, if you have one fault it is your complete incapability of lying for social purposes. Naturally, as my Royal Advisor, I value your wise counsel. Come. Enlighten me with your hitherto unsurpassed wisdom.”  
  
Zarbon swallowed thickly. The last Royal Advisor to advise Frieza was currently decomposing in a lapis-encrusted sarcophagi in the hallway. Still, refusing a thinly disguised order from the Lord was about as clever as kicking a beehive and sticking around to see what would happen next.  
  
“I simply…” he paused to choose his wording carefully, “…distrust our guests.”  
  
Frieza chuckled unpleasantly. “Of course you do. They’re pirates, not priests.”  
  
Zarbon shook his head. “But my Lord, the Captain Ginyu is no mere pirate. Once you overlook the man’s garish style and vile moustache-” he paused to give a full body shudder of revulsion at the memory, “-even I must admit his character is impressive. Across the Dragon Seas he's known as the Dread Pirate Ginyu. Further research led me to some interesting information regarding his personal history, which appears to span more years than I would have thought possible. He is no mere rogue born into poverty. He is an educated man from a family of great repute-”  
  
“Oh do cease your pretentious poppycock, Zarbon, you’re as dry as an old woman’s purse.” Frieza yawned delicately. “I’m well aware of Ginyu’s history, more specifically his connections. Indeed, it is due to Ginyu’s reputation that I chose him for our little problem regarding the Ambassador. After all, King Vegeta would never choose ordinary pirates to do his hypothetical dirty work, would he?” He lowered his voice. “We must be shrewd, Zarbon, if we are to succeed. Besides, it is terribly déclassé to judge a man by his moustache - even one as animated as Captain Ginyu’s. Bad form, you know.”  
  
Zarbon inclined his head, but in his heart of hearts he believed his Lord's plan relied too heavily on a misplaced assumption of Captain Ginyu and his crew. Zarbon was a good judge of character and something about Ginyu's eyes told him the Captain had seen things few ordinary people had seen. There was a reason every sailor in every corner of every sea knew his name. The Dread Pirate Ginyu was no pushover.

 

**oOo**

 

"You smell a scam, Captain?" Burter enquired, as they sat around their allocated shared quarters in the manor house, all feeling comfortably bloated after the grand supper they had all but inhaled.

Captain Ginyu was pacing as he so often did when lost in deep thought, a cloud of thick tobacco smoke drifting around his horned head. Finally, he paused at the window, his back to the crew.

"Captain?" Guldo prompted.

"This isn't a job opportunity," Ginyu muttered. "It's an order. Zarbon made that clear as day. He's got the dirt on us. If we refuse Frieza's damned request it'll be the Ring for all of us." He grimaced, stubbed his cigarette out and added, "If we're lucky."

The Ginyus exchanged a look that was less uneasy, more disappointed. They hadn't had a slap-up meal like the one the Frieza had dished out in many years and frankly it was nice eating something that didn't taste like the bottom of a fish tank or tried to take a bite out of you before you could take a bite out of it (Recoome wasn't much of a ship cook and tended to like his meat rare to living, but he had a fragile disposition when it came to his cooking and his shipmates simply did not have the heart to tell him it wasn't socially acceptable to have a conversation with your meal, particularly while you were digesting it). The sweet wine had tasted nothing like the grog they were used to drinking; a liquid you could clean spoons with and was very effective at swabbing the deck. There were beds in their chambers too, stuffed with feathers of all things, soft and cushy – such a pleasant change from their moth-eaten hammocks and mattresses stuffed with whatever material they could find (mostly seaweed), aboard _The Merry Milk-dud_. And somehow the general reek of Scrum had not infiltrated the alabaster walls of Lord Frieza's grand residence. The air was fresh and fragrant, and smelled faintly of honeysuckle. There wasn't even a trace of manure in the air.

They had only lived a few hours in the lap of luxury, but that was more than enough to turn the heads of each member of the crew from their ship.

Not the Captain though, they each thought grimly. He was married to the sea. Probably literally. He was rather handsome in his own way, after all, once you got past the dynamic facial hair. Mermaids and water nymphs were always offering to put out for him.

Suddenly, Ginyu turned sharply towards Jeice, grabbing the younger man by the collar of his grubby shirt and yanking him up to eye level.

"YOU! BOY!"

Jeice gulped. "Aye Cap'n!"

"I've got a job for you, you spineless sycophantic cuttlefish," Ginyu flattered. "Tomorrow morning I want you to head into town and find that damned old dog from _The Tilted Wig_ last night. I want to know what he's heard on the streets with those ears of his, got it? We need all the dirt we can dig up."

Jeice nodded fervently. "You c'n count on me, Cap'n."

Ginyu snorted doubtfully and turned to the rest of his crew. "Meanwhile, the rest of you keep constant vigilance while I do some digging of my own around this sea-forsaken pit of landlubbering scalliwags. Watch that Saiyan like a hawk. If my hunch is right, her end will be ours. Savy?"

"Aye, Captain!" the Ginyus chorused.

"And Jeice!" Ginyu pressed one large finger into Jeice's face, glaring hard. "If you embarrass me one more time like you did in front of that hoity-toity Princess, your good for nothing red arse will be dancing with figs! DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?"

"Yes Cap'n!" Jeice saluted. "Everythin' but the dancing with figs part."

Ginyu deposited the younger man onto the floor and stormed towards the door, pausing only once in what he hoped would be a dramatic and inspiring pose, looked each crew member in the eye and whispered menacingly, " _Constant. Vigilance._ "

He closed the door behind him softly so that only the walls in the near vicinity shook with the resulting tremor.

Burter gave a sigh. "You know he means business when he gets melodramatic."

"The Captain knows what he's doing," Guldo sniffed pointedly, pulling on his red and white striped pyjamas and nightcap.

"Easy fer you to say. Least you ain't playing errand boy," Jeice grumbled sullenly, plonking his chin down on his hand. "You lot get to spend all day tomorrow babysitting in the lap o' luxury while ah've gotta hunt down some dodgy old dog down the alehouse."

Guldo smirked nastily. "Hmm, yes. The Little Red Riding Hood analogy isn't lost on us, Jeice."

"Ah piss off, yeh div," grumbled Jeice, with an added rude gesture. "You've got some bloody cheek callin' _me_ little, fella. Isn't there like a height requirement fer piracy?"

"Oh shut up!" Guldo snapped. "Just because you're bitter about making an ass of yourself in front of that Ambassador doesn't mean you can go around-" but Guldo's sentence was cut short by Jeice's fist connecting with his jaw with a sound like a bat hitting a watermelon, and soon they were all fighting, a couple more of Recoome's teeth scattering across the polished floor, all except Burter who watched the action with the bored air of someone who witnessed this sort of thing on a daily occurrence. Casually, he reached across to his bed stand and picked up an old, worn book entitled, _Fayrees an' Faybles fer Pyrates_.

Then he cleared his voice.  
  
The others stopped what they were doing and gave Burter a collective blank stare.

"Do you want your bedtime story or not?" he asked, drumming his blue fingers on the cover of his book with a no-nonsense look. Immediately, the three pirates shuffled to attention and nodded expectantly. "Good. This one's called _Snow White and the Seven Pirates who Ran her through and Plundered her Gold_."

"Arrrr!" the Ginyus cheered.

 

 

**oOo**

 

Ginyu crept amongst the great stacks of crates and barrels by the docks. Creeping was hard for a man of his size. Ginyu cut a very impressive figure, his infamous silhouette gracing wanted posters all around the globe. However, there was little need for his sneaking. Leaving the manor house had been easy and this worried him. Frieza had given Ginyu and his crew free reign, which meant only one thing – even if they did manage to somehow secure their ship, the chances of getting out of Scrum and fleeing The Crooked Nook altogether were slim. Lord Frieza would hunt them down until they had served the real purpose for which he had hired them (and that undoubtedly had bugger all to do with protecting the Ambassador).

Ginyu did not plan to let this knowledge hinder him, of course. He had a reputation to live up to and no one, particularly no spoiled genocidal member of the gentry, was going to tell him what to do. What did he care if Frieza killed another royal, hornswoggled Queen Dodoria, and sashayed his way to his throne? That's what royalty did. You had a higher chance of surviving into old age as a pirate than you did as royalty in most parts of the world. But Ginyu certainly wasn't going to allow his own neck to be wrung for the sake of a political squabble.

He peered at the ship bobbing gently on the rippling black waves in the harbour, her beautiful bronze propellers shining in the light of the full moon. _The Merry Milk-dud_. Ginyu felt a pang in his chest. He knew Frieza would have some of his men stationed on the ship by now. The thought of the Lord's slimy henchmen crawling all over the deck made his blood boil. He had spent too much time and effort stealing that ship and carefully hand-picking each member of his crew to let it all be swiped out from beneath his feet in one day. Burter, his First Mate, was the fastest man with a throwing knife you'd ever seen (or seen too late, as it were). Recoome could crush a small elephant in one fist, which had come in very handy the day their ship was attacked by the dreaded aquatic pachyderm-serpent in the Wild Sea. Guldo's sharp eyesight made him perfect for spotting enemies and victims from the crow's nest, and Jeice…

Ginyu frowned. To be honest, he had never quite figured out why he had let the snot-nosed, scraggly punk of a kid onto his ship in the first place. In fact, he didn't remember ever agreeing to make him an official crew member. He had met the kid when Jeice had been a clumsy boy of thirteen who attracted danger like a lightning rod. Now Jeice was twenty-two and still knew as much about sailing as a fish does about riding a horse.

There was movement on his ship. He squinted his eyes and recognised the tell-tale armoured uniforms of Frieza's men, and took in a sharp breath. There were at least twenty of them guarding the ship. There was no way he was escaping tonight. Ginyu cursed silently and resolved to find another way.

 

**oOo**

 

Morning came all too suddenly with a very rude awakening from Zarbon followed by a very strained breakfast with Lady Bra, who was stiff with tension and suspicion. She was seated at the head of the table, bodice, frills and supercilious expression intact.

To everyone's surprise, and surely forgoing normal protocol, the Ginyus were welcomed around the breakfast table, or so claimed Mr Zarbon, at Frieza's behest. However, Lord Frieza himself was no where to be found, having taken an early dirigible that morning to accompany King Kold's body back to the mainland. In his place, Zarbon took the seat by the Ambassador's side and apologised for his master's absence. Then he inquired after Ginyu, who was himself absent having not returned to the manor the previous night.

"The good Captain will not be joining us for breakfast then, I gather?" he asked, with a delicate sip of tea, but the look in Zarbon's quick eyes said he knew perfectly well 'the good Captain' was nowhere in residence.

Burter shook his head politely. "The Captain always takes a morning stroll at this time," he lied. "Says it keeps his mind sharp."

"Thank goodness for small miracles," Bra commented lightly, pushing around her poached swan's eggs with her fork. "I should rather limit my acquaintance with that repulsive man to as little time as possible."

Jeice glared at her across his plate piled high with bacon and beans. He didn't like anyone speaking ill of the Captain, especially some jumped-up little rich girl. She was a looker, no doubt about that, but her _holier than thou_ attitude was getting older than Recoome's toothbrush. He caught her gaze and tried to fix her with a warning glare, but when when she raised her clear blue eyes to meet his, Jeice felt something flutter in his chest.

Then Bra frowned and said, "Your hair is in your beans, by the way. I thought you should know."

The fluttering stopped and Jeice instantly decided he hated her. Lady Bra's two ladies in waiting broke into stifled giggles beside her, joined by the none-too subtle sniggering from Guldo and Recoome. Jeice felt his face turn from red to scarlet as he tried to casually pull his mane of white hair out of the orange gloop on his plate.

"Yeah, well that's where it's s'posed to go," he responded mulishly, earning him an exasperated roll of blue eyes. "Old sailor's remedy. Beans are good fer split ends."

It was only after breakfast that Jeice realised, horror of horrors, that he'd only added insult to injury by admitting to having split ends.

When they returned to their chambers, Ginyu had still not returned.

"Where do you think he's gone?" asked Recoome. "Think he's gone and dun a runner?"

Guldo gasped. "Recoome! How can you possibly think that of our illustrious leader?"

"Don't sweat it little man," Recoome patted his head. "Just thinkin' out loud."

"Well don't," Guldo snapped and pushed his hand away. "It's hazardous for your health. Leave thinking to the experts."

Jeice rolled his eyes moodily. "Shut your porthole, Guldo. Give it a rest."

"Guldo's right though," said Burter. "The Captain would never do a runner on us."

"So what do we do?" asked Recoome.

Burter shrugged. "Do what we're here to do. Watch over the Ambassador. Maybe we can sniff around for information too, give us an idea of what we're dealing with." He turned to Jeice. "You go and find that old coot, Rum, like the Captain said last night. If something has happened to him, chances are Rum'll probably know about it."

Jeice gave a shrug and grinned. "Fair enough. I'm dyin' for a bevvie anyway." After this morning's embarrassment he was actually glad to have the chance to escape the manor house - not to mention the Saiyan Ambassador's hair-trigger temper.

"But what if Zarbon notices he isn't here?" Guldo pointed out.

Recoome snorted, then leaned in conspiratorially. "That ain't gonna happen. Poor bastard can't take his eyes off that monkey girl. You see the way he was lookin' at her?" He waggled his hairless eyebrows to a disturbing effect. "I figured Mr Z was deep in old Davies' locker, if you get my drift lads, but I'm bettin' my incisors those two've got a thing goin' on."

"I wouldn't bet your incisors, mate," Jeice patted him on the arm. "We can't keep replacin' your teeth with bits of stuff we find on the floor."

They'd been lucky so far. Lost teeth were easy to come by in Scrum, but last night they'd had to make do with bits of broken glass, a crooked nail, and some unidentifiable thing Recoome had found lodged between his toes.

"They do look made for one another, don't they? Like tragic lovers," said Guldo wistfully, adding, "Now Zarbon; _there's_ a true gentlemen, all right."

Recoome nodded. "You get a whiff of his hair?"

"Did I ever!" Guldo gave a dreamy sort of sigh. "I wonder how he gets it so smooth and shiny? It's nice to meet a gentleman who practises good hair maintenance. Unlike _some_ people I know." His four eyes cast Jeice a long appraising look.

That was all Jeice could take. No one insulted the hair. Now he knew precisely why he had taken such an instant dislike to Zarbon.

"No self-respectin' bloke should smell of roses and springtime dew!" he bellowed in their faces, then stormed out the door and slammed it behind him in a very good imitation of the Captain.

There was a thoughtful pause. Then Burter said, "I thought he smelled more like a soft summer breeze, personally."

"Naw," Recoome disputed, "that was more the rich opulent essence of ruby Jasmine and lotus flower."

The others gawked at him.

Recoome had the grace to blush.

 

**oOo**

If there was one thing Jeice knew he excelled at, it was sneaking. Years of pick-pocketing had left him with excellent references to prove it. After all, he'd been trained by the greatest pirate captain ever to navigate the sea air.

He flung the door of the servant's entrance open with a crash and stealthily stomped out into the back alley behind Lord Frieza's residence.

The servant's alleyway gave way to a maze of muddy streets, stone walls, and scabby, judgemental cats. Scrum never slept (this was because people were afraid the moment they closed their eyes they would wake up with a knife in their back). The memory of the grand manor's clean-swept marble floors and fragrant halls was quickly overwhelmed by the city's ever present haze of thick yellowish smog. He took a deep breath and grinned to himself.

" _Home sweet salty home_."

It surprised him how much he had missed the sounds of the city lulling him to sleep at night. The swanky high life might have been fun for a bit, but now that he was back on Scrum's streets again, Jeice was struck by just how much he did not want to return there. There were just too many rules and politics, and frills, and forks. Really, why all the forks? That was like having a different stabbing knife for each one of his victims.

Early morning shoppers and vendors were already up and about, gossiping with the fishermen and the traders around the dockside. The conspiracy theorists were having a field day with the mysterious circumstances surrounding King Kold's death (one of the popular rumours going around claimed Queen Dodoria had strangled him with her garter). Through a narrow gap between two crooked houses, Jeice could see the sprawling disembarkation dirigible green before Frieza's manor, now empty save for a few soldiers dotted about. Fleetingly, he wondered where Frieza had taken the old man's corpse.

Morning passed and it seemed to Jeice that everyone in Scrum had an opinion on King Kold's death. But no one, it seemed, had ever heard of an information broker called Rum.

Struck with the spirit of investigation, Jeice skulked around the winding streets and alehouses, finally entering the market square at the heart of the town shortly after noon. The square was a large cobbled area situated beside the clock tower; a rickety old building teetering on the edge of the docks. Its centermost point was marked by a fountain embossed with Queen Dodoria's unfortunate visage. Grubby canvas stalls stood shoulder to shoulder, boasting a healthy selection of deep-fried un-thinkables and cursed items. Dubious looking steam-powered weaponry hung from every rack and hanger. Jeice eyed a clockwork-combustor pistol longingly before grudgingly selecting something that looked like a battered lizard on a stick from an adjoining ramen stall. He took a seat at the stand and chewed enthusiastically, while trying in vain to picture the werewolf from _The Tilted Wig._

Something about the old dog had set his instincts on edge last night. Rum's eyes had been too sharp, too youthful, too... _lingery_. And he'd smiled too much. The Captain hated people who smiled too much, including Jeice (this was likely because Jeice had a terrible poker face. He had lost the ship's entire stash of boiled hams last year to Captain Bojack when he'd broadcast a brilliant hand to the table by grinning his head off and whispering loudly to Burter, _"Blimey, that's a proper good hand, like! We'll have a right good bevvie tonight!"_ ). But he couldn't very well go around every pub in Scrum asking people if they'd seen a hairy old werewolf who smiled a lot and smelled like wet dog. Well, he could. In fact, that's exactly what he had been doing up until this point. But it wasn't getting him anywhere, other than a bit drunk.

He propped his chin on the stall and mulled over the ramen on offer. It was the kind of ramen scholars would mull over - not eat, of course, but simply to ponder how it was that such a dish managed to look and smell so unappetising it made your stomach want to crawl away with its intestine between its legs. Jeice didn't consider himself a food connoisseur at any stretch - he liked his food served battered, deep-fried and served in a bun - but even he had to wonder what kind of foul creature could stomach rancid noodles.

He found his answer sitting beside him at the stand. A young woman with a stocky, angular frame, silver hair cut unfashionably short, and dressed most scandalously in a pair of men's boiler pants, was slurping her ramen and discussing the universe with the vendor as only another equally as appalling could fully appreciate.

Jeice caught the wag of her tail and suddenly realised why Rum had seemed so very familiar last night.

The werewolf beside him, who had gone by the name of Rum the night before, had not yet clocked his presence. She was caught up in an animated conversation with the vendor; a familiar old witch with hair an eye-watering shade of violet and a pointed hat on her crown - old Baba. Everyone in these parts knew Baba, the All-Seeing Crone. She was a fortune-teller of sorts who extended her talents to anyone with a bag of gold, but it seemed her mystic powers of the universe didn't extend to culinary matters.  
  
He leaned in to eavesdrop on the conversation. The werewolf girl was complaining around great mouthfuls of noodle broth.  
  
"Honestly, what's the big deal? So I lost Major Satan's delivery of viagra in the Spinach Wastes. If you ask me the old man should lay down his testies anyway." She waved an airy hand in the air, dismissively. "I probably saved him a cardiac arrest, but do I get a thank you? No! I get half the bounty hunters from here to UnLundun on my tail," she grumbled with a slurp, then gave a small shrug of her shoulders. "Luckily for me they all came down with a sudden contagious spate of combustion. Very tragic."  
  
"Mmm, I hear that's catching," the witch said with a dark smile and bared her wrinkled gums, "around gunpowder."  
  
The was a twinkle in the werewolf's eye as she nodded. "Aye. Kids today. They all wanna be bounty hunters, but put them to work and it's all _'Ahh no, stop exploding me!'_ " She gave an exaggerated sigh. "I blame the parents, personally. Anyway, it serves the army right for hiring me for important missions. I'm far too unfit and undisciplined. Look, it says so right here in my brochure." She pushed a flier towards the witch. "You can keep that, by the way. There's a senior citizen discount."  
  
Baba glared. "What are you implying?"  
  
The girl waved her hands guiltily. "Nothing! Nothing."  
  
"Oi Baba," Jeice interrupted brightly. "I've got a joke for you. What's smelly, rude, flea-ridden, fights too much, drinks too much, wears the wrong sized bra and probably has a hangover right now?"

The werewolf whirled about on her stool. There was a long pause as she stared at Jeice, guiltily wide-eyed and with a string of noodles hanging limply from her mouth. The fortune-teller Baba looked entirely nonplussed at the exchange, her ancient face as wrinkled as a prune and just as non-committal. She lifted the lid on her stone bowl pot to pour something oily black into the broth simmering away, and for a moment the only sound between the three of them was a violent hissing and spitting as the contents came into contact with direct sunlight.

Jeice nodded at the werewolf, raised a hand and smiled, all teeth and not nicely.

"Yo."

The werewolf turned her back to him and for a moment Jeice thought she might try to run. Instead she appeared to be struggling with something in a leather satchel hanging off her belt. When she turned back around to face him again it was with a hastily reapplied beard and crooked nose.

"Oh hello again, lad!" she croaked enthusiastically. "Me old eyes couldna' see you clearly there."

Jeice shot her a deadpan look. "Saku, I know it's you." He pointed. "Your name's on the brochure."

She raised a hand to one ear. "What's that sonny?"

He reached forward to pinch one of her furry ears. "Quit messin' around!"

"Ow! _Fine_. Ger'off!" She removed the beard and nose with a reluctant pout. Saku Ookami fancied herself a bit of a master of disguise, and the old sea dawg 'Rum' was one of her favourite characters to perform. Ah well, it had been fun to play one on the Ginyus for a while. "Kch. Well, I see you've seen through my cunning disguise. Colour me impressed," she drawled, importantly. "You might have learned a thing or two since I saw you last, shorty."

"Leave off, I've grown two inches since then." If you counted his hair (which Jeice did) he now reached an impressive 158cm. "Listen, I don't know what yer up to, luv, but the Cap'n still hasn't forgotten you vandalising all his wanted posters like that. Ah'd keep out of his way for another decade or two. Y'know how he can hold a grudge."

Saku chortled, reminiscing: one thousand and one wanted posters littered across towns from Scrum to the mainland had boasted Captain Ginyu with two exceptionally phallic looking horns. "Ha, yeah. Classic." She paused, sniffing the air with a small frown. "Why do you smell of beans?"

Jeice slumped over the stand, face drawn and green eyes watering. "Don't even ask!" he moaned pathetically, clearly wanting to complain about his dreadful breakfast experience.

Saku didn't give him the chance. She had known the pirate for years and he always did have a flair for the dramatic. She idly wondered why Jeice had never gone in for the theatrics. It was probably for the best, however. He didn't handle criticism well and you really had to have a thick skin to tread the boards.

"So," Saku began, "I take it you're here to interrogate me, eh? The good Captain Ginyu wants to know what I've got on Kold, so he's sent you crawling after me to pilfer my strictly confidential information." She stuck her chest out proudly and laughed. It wasn't at all ladylike. More of a guffaw. But then, Jeice supposed she had been literally raised by wolves. "Well it's about time he recognised me for my possession of extensive skills," she prattled on, "and, dare I say, intoxicating cocktail of attributes."

"Attributes, huh?" Jeice eyed her chest with a disappointed pout. "Wish they'd extend to your physical bits. I mean what are you, an A cup? That's just pathe-OW!" He rubbed his skull tenderly where the werewolf's elbow had connected with a crunch. "...Sorry."

"Apology accepted." She returned to slurping her noodles. "Word on the street is you and your buddies have been banged up at Frieza's place. How the hell did you get out of there on your own?"

"Cause we've not been banged up." He gave her a cheeky wink. "We've been _hired_. Movin' up the chain, we are. Mingling with high society! Fine dining, cushy rooms, proper loos, polite chat." He slouched. "I hate it."

She snorted. "Too many rules?"

"Too many forks," he said imploringly. "I dunno why Frieza wants us. Says he doesn't want that Saiyan wench getting her throat slit on his watch. Guess it would make him look bad or something, hell if I care. We're supposed to be her shiny new bodyguards."

Saku cocked an eyebrow. "Fine job you're doing."

Jeice gave an indifferent shrug of his shoulders. "Frieza doesn't seem to care much, s'long as a couple of us are about the place. We're probably fer show more than anythin'."

"Probably..." She looked doubtful. "Look, I think we need to-"

She cut herself short suddenly. A movement had caught the corner of her eye. Someone had been watching them, but before she could register who that someone was, they had slipped easily into the crowd. She scanned the heads of shoppers quickly. No one. That was worrying. To hide in plain sight was a skill set a level above your average soldier in these parts.

She stood, plastering an easy smile on her face, and clapped a hand down on her friend's shoulder. "Look mate, this isn't the best place to talk. Let's head back to mine."

Jeice cocked an eyebrow and shot her a smirk. She drew him a mildly disgusted look.

"Not that kind of talk."

Jeice shrugged. "Hey, don't knock it 'til yeh've tried it, luv."

Saku bent across the stall towards Baba, speaking in low tones. "Did you do the weather reading for tomorrow yet? Remember, it's gotta be accurate."

A small dark smile twitched on the witch's lips. "My readings are always one hundred percent accurate," she whispered sinisterly. "And they come with a free yoghurt."

Saku nodded and plonked a small bag of gold in front of the old woman. "Always a pleasure."

Jeice watched with idle curiosity as the two women bent their heads together in hushed whispers, Saku nodding her head vigorously every now and then. Obviously Baba belonged to some Magic Guild, Jeice thought warily. He gave an impatient huff and began to prod at the bowl of noodle broth with his pistol, only to have his hand slapped away.

Finally, Saku stood, looking all too pleased with herself as she downed the cold remnants of her broth in one unladylike slurp. He frowned. Jeice knew he wasn't the sharpest knife in the drawer – in fact he was probably a spoon – but his instincts were finely tuned to dodgy deals. He knew when someone was up to something. Knowing when someone was up to something was practically his middle name (actually it was Rupert, but no one needed to know that).

"Cheers, Baba," said Saku, with a disconcerting toothy grin that was all too wolfish for his comfort. "That's all I needed to know."

Baba passed her a small leather purse across her ramen stand, then drew them a long appraising look each. She smiled. It wasn't pleasant. Suddenly Jeice found Saku's smile all mildness and sugar in comparison.

"Be careful of what you're getting into, Ookami," said the witch. "There's evil in the air. Murder afoot. Something very nasty in the streets…"

"Yeah, I think ah trod on it earlier," he muttered, then leaned in to whisper in Saku's ear, "Can we go now? Your barmy nan's creepin' me out."

They bid their goodbyes and took off through the market square, Saku making sure to steer them into the thickest part of the throng. The shadow wasn't the only one adept at hiding in plain sight.

She looked at him askance. "You know you're being followed, right?"

Jeice shot her a gormless look of surprise. _Well that answers that, then,_ she thought. Trust Jeice to lead a spy all the way into town. That was your typical Ginyu for you; stealthy as tanks the lot of them. To his credit, he just about managed to restrain himself from looking about like a mad bee was attacking. He set his jaw in a grim line and nodded brusquely.

"All right. There's a pawn shop up the road here - 'Dirty Fred's Load of Crape'." It was commonly believed in Scrum that adding an 'e' to the end of a word gave your establishment a touch of class. "It has a private exit we can use to get to the rooftops." He flashed her a grin. "Bit o' height'll give us an advantage."

"Good thinking," she agreed, reflecting his toothy smile with a toothier one of her own, as they cut about a string of stalls and slipped into a side street leading off the market. "Oh, and by the way?"

"Yeah?"

Her fist connected with his nose with a satisfyingly wet _thwack_ sound.  
  
"Your punchline sucked."

 

 

**oOo**

 


	5. Deliberations

**RumBuggery!**

Deliberations

 

 When you wanted something done, it was proper protocol to start a quest. This applied to both heroes and pirates. After all, there was nothing in the rule book that stated a quest taken had to be a gallant or chivalrous one. A quest was a quest by the very nature of its undertaking. There was, for example, the infamous Quest for a Shanty undertaken by the crew of the self-proclaimed King of the Pirates, Captain Broly, who had grown so bored with their usual rowdy tunes that quite a lot of blood had been spilled during the arguments over which pirate shanty was the best, thus they determined to find an entirely new one.

Most of these dangerous quests left Captain Ginyu irritable, hungry and often in need of a new crew. Indeed he had been on so many quests during his pirating years that he had sworn them off for the foreseeable future. But Fate, who Ginyu decreed could be an interfering bastard, had other plans for him. From the moment he had been handed the summons from Lord Frieza, Ginyu had sniffed a quest on the horizon.

Frustrated and thirsty, the Captain stepped over the threshold of _The Tilted Wig_. It was quite empty. Most of the tavern's usual customers had either passed-out, passed away, or were banged up in the dungeons by mid-afternoon. In the corner a dusty old man was playing a dusty old fiddle. By the bar a pretty waitress, with deep blue hair the colour of the sea, was drumming her fingers on the bar, evidently waiting for a quest to find her.

Krillen, the bald-headed, bald-minded barman and proprietor of _The Tilted Wig_ , was busy mopping up blood and bits of leftover customers from last night's nightly brawl (scheduled Mon-Fri eight to nine on weekends). He looked up at the sound of heavy footfalls and promptly let out a high-pitched shriek as the Captain's shadow fell over him like a black cloud.

"Ginyu! W-What are you doing here?" the small man stammered. "I told you, you're barred!"

Ginyu smiled like a lion and plonked his large hands on the small man's shoulders, turning him around. "Come, come now, we're both gentlemen here and gentlemen do not squabble over petty matters. Gentlemen discuss their differences over a nice whiff of port," he said, guiding Krillen non-too-gently and sitting him down at a wobbly table, then took a seat opposite. "After all, we can't all run around like hooligans, damn it all. Some of us must be civilised! Imagine the world if all of us was knocking each other around, eh?" He bellowed with laughter, a sound like a horn blown to raise the dead.

"Not much different to how it is now, I expect," Krillen muttered sullenly. "What're you after this time, Ginyu?"

"Captain," Ginyu corrected congenially, "if you please."

"Fine. What're you up to, _Captain_?" Krillen spat acidly. "'Cause whatever it is, I want no part of it."

He sighed dramatically. "Whatever did I do to earn such a bitter opinion, I wonder."

Krillen bent to pointedly remove one of Recoome's teeth embedded in one of the table legs. Ignoring the silent accusation, Ginyu leaned back into his chair and tapped his nose conspiratorially.

"I'm after information. Worry not, my small bald-headed chum. It's nothing that will get your neck in a noose."

"Yeah, right."

Ginyu waved an airy hand. "Naturally, I'll make it worth your while."

"I'm not interested in money."

"Ah, _Women_ ," the Captain said sagely, as though recalling some rare species he had once glimpsed while sailing past a tropical island.

"Like you'd know any decent ones," Krillen snorted. "And besides, I'm married," he said, then added, " _Happily_."

It was Ginyu's turn to look indignant. "Preposterous. No such thing." He fixed a very serious stare on Krillen's small black eyes and lowered his booming voice so that the barmaid and the fiddle player who had been eavesdropping almost had to strain their ears to hear him. "Then… perhaps a deal."

Krillen narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "What kind of a deal?"

"A contract. A gentlemen's agreement. I believe the vulgar common term is 'you scratch my back and I'll scratch yours'," said Ginyu with an odd quirk of his lips. He may have been a pirate, but he liked to think of himself as a well-read, fine-bred gentleman of the sea and quite above such common language. It quite escaped his notice that he was a complete idiot. "There must be something you find yourself in need of."

Krillen scoffed at that. "Come off it, Captain. Why would I ever trust you? You're a pirate!"

“How very astute.” Ginyu leaned into his chair with a thoughtful expression, twiddling his moustache and tapping one foot against the floorboards. “All right, I am a fair man and I can see we have reached an impasse of sorts. Therefore I am left with but one option." Ginyu leaned back across the table, a dark and solemn expression on his face. "We shall take the _**Oath**_. Will that warrant your trust?"

Krillen did sit straighter at that, his small eyes growing wide. He studied the Captain's face, evaluating his words and the truth behind them. He knew no pirate went against the Oath, nor made one lightly, especially not one so traditional as Ginyu. Wary, but now too curious for his own good, he nodded his agreement.

“All right, you got a deal.”

"Splendid!"

In one motion, they linked pinkie fingers across the table and chanted together:

_'Pinkie promise,_

_Cross my heart,_

_Lest I sniff_

_A dead man's fart.'_

"This had better be worth it," said Krillen, cheeks tinged pink. He turned to the pretty waitress at the bar. "Launch – bottle of port over here, please!" The blue haired nodded smartly and brought over a bottle and two glasses thick with salty grime. When she left them, Krillen hunched over the table and asked, "Word has it you and your men are up at Frieza's big house. That true?"

Ginyu snorted. "News travels fast."

At first Krillen only nodded thoughtfully to himself. His small black eyes darted quickly and carefully around gloomy contours of the tavern. Then he signalled again to the waitress at the bar, who immediately perked up with a tight nod and went to the door, barring and locking it. After she closed the rickety wooden shutters and slipped quietly into a back room, Krillen reached into his waistcoat to procure a small device resembling two tuning forks embedded in some kind of complicated apparatus.

Curious, Ginyu leaned over the table to peer closer. "Great Scott, man, what on _earth_ is that?"

The other man smirked. "This little beauty is an auditory resonance disruptor, shipped all the way from UnLundun," he preened.

"An odditory _what_?"

Krillen flicked one of the tuning forks and instantly the little device whirred to life and the tavern was filled with a low, buzzing noise like a swarm of bees. "It'll stop anyone overhearing anything we don't want them to overhear," he explained, tapping his non-existent nose.

Ginyu relaxed back into his chair and whistled, extremely impressed. He liked to pride himself on keeping up with modern steam-engineering and scientific advancement out of UnLundun, but this device had to be the very latest in snoop technology in order to have escaped his attention.

"And just how did an ex-monk come by such a thing? I mean to say, I'm sure an establishment as modern as this fine place brings good business,” he said, gesturing sarcastically with a broad wave of his hand at the molluscs decorating the tavern's walls, “but let us be honest: such a gadget is a rare and expensive treat indeed. May I ask how you came by it?"

There was a long, heavy silence between them while Krillen fixed Ginyu with a steady, serious look. The tension was somewhat undercut by the old fiddle player in the corner who had begun plucking the [Danse Macabre](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YyknBTm_YyM) out of his instrument.

When Krillen spoke again, his voice was heavy with meaning, "My daughter is one of Ambassador Bra's handmaidens.”

There was a pregnant pause; the music intensified.

“Ahh, I see.” He didn't, but it wouldn't do to let the pub landlord know that. When you have no cards, hide your hands under the table.

Krillen continued, unaware of the Captain's complete ignorance. “Y'see, my wife and daughter are - _were_ scientists working under the chairman of Queen Dodoria's scientific advisory committee, Dr Briefs. A lot of the stuff they were working on was top secret, but I was working as a head peeler in central UnLundun at the time and there was a lot of weird talk on the streets: word was Dr Briefs was working on a clockwork man: an _automaton_. My daughter was just an assistant engineer at the time, but I think my wife was more involved with Brief's work.” He slumped in his seat, suddenly looking as if the weight of the world was boring down on his shoulders. “I never got the chance to ask her though. Around the time rumours began three years ago... she just disappeared.”

Ginyu nodded sympathetically. “Ah well, women tend to do that.” He topped up their drinks, making sure to pour himself an exceedingly more generous refill. “Can't let them get us down, what!”

“No, you don't understand, Ginyu - there was a break-in at Dr Brief's laboratory. The place was ransacked – documents, projects, and a whole team of scientists, including Brief and my wife, just _vanished_. Every investigation has come to a dead end, but the signs all point to one guy.”

This time Ginyu followed perfectly well. “ _Frieza_.”

“But there's no proof,” Krillen cried, hanging his head in his hands with frustration.  
  
No wonder he was balder than a baby's arse. Ginyu wondered idly if this was an inappropriate time to ask for a coaster.  
  
Krillen continued. “That's why Ambassador Bra and my daughter took up post here. Dr Brief's is Ambassador Bra's grandfather and, well, Marron just couldn't sit around waiting for news of another dead end investigation.” He gave a wry laugh. “I didn't want her to. I mean I'm a proud coward, but my daughter's pretty single-minded like her mother. So I bought this place and the rest is history.”

“Well this is all terribly interesting, but what do you expect me to do?” He picked up his goblet and swished the contents around. “You have my sympathies, dear fellow, but I have no interest in getting any more acquainted with Lord Frieza than I already am.”

Krillen reached forward to grab his wrist. “I'm not asking you to investigate. I'm asking you to get my daughter out of there! Frieza's planning something big in Scrum. We've had more soldiers coming through the Wig's doors than ever, and not the usual dimwits either. Real tough, scary-lookin' guys.” He swallowed thickly. “Look, if the Ambassador's in danger, so's my daughter and I can't lose Marron too. I-I won't.” Fear trembled across his pallid face, but his expression was resolute. “Make sure she's safe, alright? Those are my terms, Ginyu. Get my daughter out of there and I'll get you anything you want.”

Ginyu looked down at the grimy hand squeezing his own arm with distaste. “Now, now, no need for the dramatics, man,” he said, extracting a pocket-handkerchief from his jacket and delicately removed Krillen's hand from his person. “I hear you loud and clear, and upon the Oath I shall take pains to keep an eye on your daughter and secure her well-being. You have my word as both a pirate and a gentleman.”

Krillen rolled his eyes. “Ha, a gentleman. _Right_.” He swallowed a mouthful of port, gagging at the sea water after-taste. “Let's face it pal, we're both the last option of desperate men. So what is it you want, Ginyu?”

The pirate Captain put down his goblet and clasped his hands together neatly on the table.

"My ship."

"Your ship?"

"That's what I said."

"Hold on, hold on.” Krillen blinked at him rather stupidly, then bit his lip to hold a laugh back. “You're saying someone's stolen your ship? _Your_ ship?"

Ginyu sniffed and blithely ignored the irritating smirk tugging at the corners of the other man's mouth. "If you want to be vulgar about it, in a manner of speaking, yes. And I spent far too much time and effort procuring that ship from the Earl de Buu-"

" _Stealing_ it," Krillen cut in.

"- to have some chap come along and claim it for his own, damn it all! Pass the port."

"Well if that ain't poetic irony... Wait, hold on - I saw your ship in the harbour just a half-hour ago," said Krillen, dutifully topping their drinks up. "No one could've sailed off with it in that time, not even the King of Thieves."

"Ah!" Ginyu shouted, grinning. "And here we come to my point. How might one go about contacting the King of Thieves? I was led to believe you were an acquaintance of his. You know. Fellow who lives in the Deadly Deserts. Long hair. No ball in his canon, if you get my meaning. Thinks a flying cat follows him round. Nice port, by the by. Good age."

"Yamcha? Well, yeah sure. I know him." Krillen shrugged. "Crazy as a fruitbat, but good at what he does. He's been doing business around the Crooked Nook lately. Usually comes in here for a pint round six."

Ginyu stroked his chin musingly. "That so…that so…"

"I can arrange a meeting with him then, but man…I dunno if Yamcha will even chance anything round Scrum this week."

The ridges above Ginyu's red-tinged eyes rose. "Oh? Why might that be?"

It was the landlord's turn to look surprised. "Well isn't it obvious? There's a ball on in a couple nights - some big charity event at the manor house. If Frieza's going to make a move on Ambassador Bra, it'll be then. Hell, it's too perfect an op not to. Nice big public event, lots of distractions,” Krillen gestured towards Ginyu without thinking, “and a bunch of gormless blockheads positioned to take the fall-” He squawked as Ginyu cut him off by covering his face with one large hand.

"That's quite enough of that, thank you."

It was one thing when he called his men a bunch of halfwitted, clownish, sycophantic cheese-mongerers, but it rather riled him up when someone else insulted his crew. He drummed the fingers of his free hand on the table, ignoring Krillen's muffled protests.

This was no good, no good at all. He was feeling increasingly more agitated. The mouthy ex-monk was right; Frieza would not pass up the golden opportunity of the very public alibi that tomorrow evening's ball would present him. But one other thing bothered him: if Krillen was correct in his belief that Frieza was behind the list of mounting disappearances, he was up to more than simply covering his hide for re-arranging messy family politics. There was a bigger plan in motion.

Still, the important question was where did this scenario leave he and his crew?

 _'Strung up like sardines, most likely,'_ he thought grimly, and downed another mouthful of port.

 

 

**oOo**

 

Saku Ookami was widely recognised as the worst adventurer who ever travelled the Seven Kingdoms. Merely bad adventurers had perhaps one or two near-death experiences along their travels. She scorned such amateurs. In the past year alone she had been hired seventeen times to guard various high ranking officials – five of them had been maimed in various bloody and imaginatively gruesome ways under her watch, four had been inspired to take up piracy, and the few who had survived working with her had turned to drink. She was now banned from six of the Seven Kingdoms, had caused several thousand doubloons worth of property damage, blew up a castle, worried a dragon, and had a bounty put on her head for stealing candy from the Earl de Buu. Truly, there was no beginning to her talents.

So the fact that she was well acquainted with Jeice of the notorious Ginyu Force surprised no one ever. Stupidity herds together after all.

They wound their way through the shadowy streets of Scrum, doubling back and around more than once until Saku was almost positive they had left their stalker long behind. It was easy enough to lose someone in the dank, creeping terraces around the riverbanks. The city was small, but its architects had been quite drunk when they designed it.

A light drizzle began to fall as they swung into the pawnbroker's section of the city. Saku tore a soggy Wanted poster featuring a very unflattering mug shot of her from the window of an antiques shop, while her companion complained bitterly about frizzy hair and some bloke called Zarbon who was apparently Frieza's right hand man, or lover, or sexy scullerymaid, who the hell cared? Plainly ignoring him, Saku reached into a pouch on her belt and pulled out a handful of tiny dark crystals that twinkled in the sunlight. Then, glancing surreptitiously around, she dropped them into an empty barrel on a street corner.

People were always critical of her unconventional methods, she thought with a satisfied smirk, tuning out Jeice's heavily-accented whinging. Take the dashing Prince Trunks, for example. No faith in her at all! But when it came right down to it she got the job done. So she may have inspired a few starry-eyed royals to turn to piracy. In some places, like Scrum for instance, piracy was considered an aspiration. Property damage? Well, sacrifices had to be made. The castle had been an eyesore too and frankly the Earl de Buu needed to lose some weight. Nobody had died, not completely. And it was hardly her fault that some stupid dragon had underlying abandonment issues.

"But yeh know what ah hate most about that little prick?” said Jeice, interrupting her mental self-flattery.

"No, please, tell me again," Saku muttered dryly, scattering another handful of black crystals in a another barrel. The little pouch on her belt that she had acquired from old Baba was much lighter now. She checked the time on her pocket watch, then peered cautiously down the road leading back to town. Her eyes narrowed. The streets were oddly empty.

"The way Zarbon's bloody hair blows like silk in the wind every time he turns around, like he's waiting for the Paparazzi to jump out at him,” Jeice spat. “And then there's Princess Bra, Royal Bitch of Eternal Bitchery, who always looks like she just sat on a pinecone. Bet she's never even wiped her own arse. She probably has a handmaiden for that. And another handmaiden to flush the loo.”

"Look, Jeice," Saku began, clapping a hand on his shoulder, “I like you, mate. If I didn't, I would have eaten you by now. But here's the thing: _I don't care._ And if you mention Princess whats-her-face or Zarbon's silky locks one more time, I will literally dropkick you on your head.”

However, Jeice's attention span was much shorter than her temper and her threats were going largely ignored. He was eyeing the pouch on her belt suspiciously. “Here, what's that stuff you've got anyway?” he asked.

Saku avoided his gaze to study her cuticles. “What's what?"

Jeice narrowed his green eyes at her. For an information dealer, Saku was a terrible liar. Even he wasn't gullible enough to fall for that.

"Right, Right... Ooo, blimey, look at that!" He pointed quickly to a spot on the far side of the street. “Free fried octopus samples!”

The werewolf spun around with a greedy look and Jeice instantly took the chance to lunge for the little pouch on her belt, snatching it up and dancing away gleefully.

“Hey, give it back!”

He shot her a smirk, twirling the little pouch around by its string tie. “Give what back?”

Saku growled, showing her pointed incisors. “The only thing that will stop me from wearing your insides like a hat.”

Jeice cackled. “No chance, pet. You still haven't told me what you're doin' in Scrum, or why you were spyin' on us last night.” He shook the bag in her face. “OR what's in this bag that old hag gave you.”

“Don't shake that, you idiot!” she yelped, scampering back to plaster herself against the far wall.

“Why?” Jeice eyed the bag curiously, shaking the contents again. When nothing happened, he looked at her oddly. “Seriously, what _is_ this stuff? Yeh think I'm blind or somethin'? You've been dumpin' this crap into barrels all over town.”

Saku gave a little embarrassed cough and replied innocently, “What barrels?” with the worst lying face since Guldo attempted to convince everyone he'd once been engaged to Princess Snake.

"THEM barrels." He pointed back down the street. "And the ones back there! You've been dumpin' this black stuff about town since we left Baba's place, so what gives?”

She lowered her furry ears like a chastised mutt and gave a slight pout. "Ugh, you're unusually perceptive for a whiny idiot.”

He snorted. “Yeah, well this whiny idiot promises if you don't tell me in the next ten seconds what this is all about, I will do whatever it is you don't want me to do with this bag of anonymous doo-doo.” He shook the little pouch again to emphasise his threat.

Her eyes turned sharp and dark. “Trust me, pal. You _really_ don't want to do that.”

Jeice met her steady glare with his own. “I don't even know what I just said,” he retorted sinisterly. “So try me.”

Saku held his gaze for a while, judging the pirate's strength of character and will, sniffing the air to identify any scent of deception from his chemo-signals, and contemplating her own Divine Move.

“Well then,” she whispered darkly, “I guess we'll just have to settle this the old pirate way.”

His gaze faltered a little, beads of sweat forming on his brow, but he shot her a defiant if shaky smile nonetheless. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess we will.”

They took a cautious step towards each other, hands outstretched.

Ten seconds later, Saku fell to her knees in defeat, staring mournfully down at his fist clenched over her own two outstretched fingers. There was an infuriatingly victorious smile plastered across his handsome red mug as he danced a mocking victory jig.

“Sorry luv!” he cackled. “Pirate canon beats pirate scissors.”

“Whatever,” Saku snapped grumpily. She considered calling for a best out of three, but the ancient maritime laws of Canon, Paper, Scissors had to be respected. So instead, she pointed behind him him and gasped dramatically. “Hey, isn't that your captain?”

“What?? Where?!”

As Jeice spun around in a panic, she took the opportunity to step lithely forth and knee him in the belly.

It's a universal truth that no matter how skilled two fighters are, when you bring a pair of idiots together any skill set requiring their interaction looks no more coordinated or dignified than two drunk squirrels slapping each other around with a fish would. And so the street was treated to a rendition of personal insults so poetic in their structure and delivery, their dulcet tones would have made grown men weep.

“Gimme that back you smeg pot!”

“Back off you flat-chested dog!”

“You're such a baby!”

“OW- don't punch those, they're fragile!”

“Trust me, I'm doing the world a favour!”

They scuffled across the ground, a big tangle of messy limbs, hands grabbing unmentionables, and pulling at hair in an embarrassing display of idiocy. It would probably have gone on in this fashion for some time if Saku hadn't suddenly stopped. With Jeice's fist in her jaw and her own elbow buried in the side of his skull, she cocked her head to the side and listened with nervous twitching ears to the tiny, mechanical beats increasing in rapidity.

“Do you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“That ominous ticking bomb sound?”

Which was when the street exploded.

 

**oOo**

 

Pirates and their seedier ilk had many skill sets, ranging from a colourful repertoire of sea shanties, to the canny application of a knee to the groin in a fist fight. But if there was one skill pirates lacked in abundance it was stealth. They simply didn't have the stomach for it. Pirates were bold and lawless creatures who swept aboard rich cargo ships with a gleaming cutlass between their teeth and no mind for health and safety protocol. The idea of slinking about in the shadows like a rat went against everything a pirate believed in.

This all came in very handy for Agent Z as he shrugged the two unconscious bodies in a hessian sack over his shoulder. He was picking his way through the dockside towards a cluster of ramshackle warehouses on the west side of Scrum, having managed the short journey from town without a single inquisitive glance from passers-by. The only attention he drew was a polite nod from a fellow human trafficker, whose own sack was full of kicking and squawking inmates. Agent Z politely returned the nod. It was good to share a heavy burden through pleasantries with a stranger.

When he arrived at his destination - a particularly shabby looking warehouse long abandoned by the docksiders - Agent Z dropped the sack in a corner and impatiently waited for his captives to regain consciousness.

It happened all too quickly.

They were both gagged, but that didn't stop them from making a noise like a pair of rowdy fishwives. The werewolf was the first to emerge, with eyes burning like hot coals as they swivelled towards him. Agent Z wasn't concerned. Werewolves weren't to be trifled with, but he had come prepared; his disguise would fool even his own mother. He wore goggles with thick dark lenses as well as an ornate gold and teal embossed Plague Doctor mask to conceal his facial features. A little string bag of strong-smelling herbs hung around his neck (pomegranate seed and lilac bush with just a hint of lavender). That would put the werewolf's keen nose out of joint.

When the orange-skinned Ginyu pirate emerged from the sack, Agent Z drew a ki-pistol (a beautiful long wheel-lock pistol with ivory stock and gold inlays) from a concealed silk thigh holster. This he levelled calmly at the young man's head.

“Good evening, Ms Ookami, Mr... Jeice, was it?” he greeted them politely. His voice was soft and mild-mannered. Even when one was pointing a gun at a foe's head, there was no excuse for rudeness. “Before I blow your heads off, perhaps you'll do me the favour of explaining your little rendezvous in the market square this morning?”

They gave him a bit of a collective blank look. Agent Z sighed and removed their gags.

The werewolf took deep, greedy gulps of air before glaring at him. “Do you have _any_ idea what it was like in that sack? He farted twice, you know.”

The pirate scowled at her. “Oi, you can't prove that!”

Agent Z calmly took a seat atop an overturned barrel in front of them, and issued a very tight smile. “I'm sorry the mode of transport wasn't to your liking, but if you don't lower your voices I'll be forced to project you violently into the sea. Now if you'd be so kind.” He waved the pistol at the Ginyu's head. “Explain yourself.”

Jeice trembled. “What d'you want to know?”

The agent narrowed his eyes darkly, golden eyes glittering like hard jewels. “Everything.”

“Everythin'?”

“ _Everything_.”

“Ok, I'll talk! Just don't explode me again!” Jeice wailed. “I'm a Leo, I like bacon sarnies without the crusts and when I was four my best mate was a pet worm called Goober. In fifth grade I cheated on my swashbuckling exam– ok, ok, I'm lying, I didn't make it to fifth grade! The worst thing I ever did was feed my aunt's pet emule a bag of dried rice and it started to blow up like a dirigible until it exploded, it was bloody horrible. And sometimes I go out on Fridays an' hang with the crew, and we do really stupid crazy shit like steal stuff and riding our bikes on the pavement, and drinking five litres of coloured milk in a oner so that when you puke it comes up like a rainbow. Oh an' this one time I dared Recoome to ride his bike under a triceratops to see if dinosaurs had pubes, and he did! Ride the bike, I mean, the triceratops didn't have pubes and I lost, like, fifty zeni, but I think it was worth it-”

Agent Z pressed the cold barrel of the pistol to his forehead and cocked the hammer. “My apologies, my trigger finger is allergic to verbal diarrhoea.”

“In fairness,” the werewolf drawled, “you did ask him. And he was more eloquent than usual.”

“Yeah!” Jeice nodded fiercely. “Wait-what?”

Agent Z waved a hand, airily. “Yes, well, I'm an Aries. I'm sure you've heard about our famously short tempers.” He pushed the barrel of the gun hard against the pirate's forehead. “Perhaps, Ookami, you will oblige me for the sake of your friend.”

She sniffed. “I never oblige anyone.” Nevertheless, she got to her feet smoothly and shook off the hessian sack from around her ankles. “Look, 'Agent Z', don't get your frillies in a twist. This one hasn't a clue what he's got himself mixed up in.” She fixed the spy with a stony stare. “If anyone should be doing the interrogating round here, it's me. You was supposed to meet up with Trunks last night. What's _your_ excuse?” Suddenly she paused, cocked her head to the side, looking thoughtful. “Wait, does the Prince have a codename too? Is Trunks his codename? It's gotta be, I mean who the hell would name their kid Trunks?”

Jeice goggled at her. “Someone named their kid ' _Trunks_ '? Kami's pants, and I thought Bra was a bloody stupid name.”

“Bra's his sister.”

“Piss off, you're pulling my leg?”

Agent Z pinched the bridge of his nose and emitted a long suffering sigh. Everything on Scrum was caked in a layer of salt and grime. The damp sea air did nothing for his hair or his complexion, and spending any more time in this particular hole than was absolutely necessary put him in a very foul mood. Would it really put make any difference to his mission if he bumped these two goons off? Probably not, but there might be use for them yet. Honestly, what he didn't do for Queen and country.

“If you're quite done,” he cut them short. “Regrettably I was unable to make my appointment with the crown Prince last night. It might have escaped your notice, Ookami, but King Kold has been murdered, Ambassador Bra has been targeted next, and should her death come to pass the Dodorian Empire will erupt into civil war.”

Jeice whistled. “That was some nice exposition.”

“Thank you,” Agent Z inclined his head politely, then raised his pistol once more. “Ookami, you were hired as an information broker for the Saiyan family.” He narrowed his eyes at Jeice. “But there seems to be an issue with _whom_ you are brokering information to.”

Jeice raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Saks, you're working for royals now? Movin' up in the world, girl!”

She flashed a grin. “I know, right??”

There was an awkward shuffling as the pair attempted a fist-bump with their bound hands. This was about the last straw Agent Z had in a barn of increasingly pissed off farm animals. He fired the pistol into the floorboards between them.

“Hey! Don't you know how to treat a delicate lady?!” Saku barked furiously, leaping away from the smoking hole by her feet. “I've been doing my job, it's _you_ we've been waiting around for.” She tilted her chin towards Jeice. “He's on the Ginyu Force and, as you no doubt know, he'll be swinging by the end of the week if Frieza makes his move on Bra.”

“Wait, what?” Jeice blinked. “Pardonne moi?”

Saku ignored him and continued. “You need to get the Princess out of the archipelago and back to UnLundun. And I suggest you do it sooner rather than later, cause I'm telling you now her brother's on the verge of crashing through the window swinging that flashy sword of his at Frieza's head.”

Agent Z turned to pace the warehouse; these days he was in possession of a near constant frown and not for the first time he worried if the damage done to his complexion would be permanent. But some matters – very few, admittedly – came before personal maintenance. Still, it wouldn't do to let Frieza notice any change in his perfectly manicured, urbane appearance. Lord Frieza might have been a narcissist, but he was watchful and cunning. He never missed a trick. In his many years as a spy in Frieza's court, Agent Z knew how perilous and potentially temporary his situation was.

Frieza did have one glaring weak-point, however. It was one that Agent Z shared in abundance: the man was an outrageous snob.

He turned towards the werewolf and the pirate briskly. “Fine. If we're to outsmart Frieza we must come at him from the only angle he won't expect.”

“A 180 degree angle?”  
  
“What's an angle?”  
  
Agent Z took a deep breath and bit his tongue. He motioned towards Jeice with his pistol once more, swallowed his bubbling temper, and continued. “Frieza's aim was to hire the Ginyus to act as bodyguards for Ambassador Bra, and later pin her death on your heads. He will target her two nights from now on the night of the Richégeetz Ball, but that is where you must turn the tables. After all, Frieza has little regard for the lower classes-”  
  
“Oh, you did _not_ just call us lower classes, pal-”  
  
“-Frieza will expect resistance from Trunks and his allies, not from a group of pirates he himself hired for his own means,” the agent explained irritably. “On that night, you and your crew are to alight from the archipelago with the Ambassador.” He holstered his pistol and walked purposefully towards the smaller man. “In the name of Queen Dodoria and the Dodorian Empire, I hereby charge you with the protection of Lady Bra, royal Princess and Ambassador for the Saiyan kingdom.”  
  
Both Jeice and Saku's eyes went wide and they spluttered together, “ _You what??_ ”  
  
A small, snide smile split the spy's face. “Perhaps it would sweeten the deal to know Queen Dodoria would no doubt offer a pardon to you, your Captain and his crew, for your services to the crown. Do we have a deal?”  
  
Jeice stuck his red chin out, petulantly. “An' what if we don't?”  
  
“Frieza will have you hanged, drawn and quartered.” His honeyed voice was disconcertingly unperturbed by the idea.  
  
“Right...” Jeice made a sour face. “So what you're saying is either we risk our lives goin' against Frieza or we don't and die horribly anyway?”  
  
He shrugged. “Pretty much.”  
  
“...Yaaaay.”  
  
A mockingly polite clearing of the throat turned their attention to Saku, who, Agent Z noted quite disconcertingly, had managed to slip out of her wrist bindings. She raised a hand in a wave. “Hi, yeah, my common sense is tingling. You'll never be able to sneak Bra away from Frieza's big prom night without one of his jocks noticing,” she pointed out. “I can provide a distraction that'll help the Ginyus on their way, but you need to get Bra out of the manor well before then.”  
  
Agent Z hated to admit it, but she was right. Frieza's armada was the fastest in the world. The Ginyus would need time to put some distance between their ship and the Crooked Nook well before Bra's disappearance was discovered.  
  
“How about a decoy?” Jeice ventured, then snickered. “Zarbon would probably do.”  
  
“I'm positive he would _not_ ,” Agent Z snapped, peevishly. “It's a little too late in the day to be looking about for a handy decoy. We're a little short on blue-haired Saiyan princesses in the archipelago.”  
  
“Actually,” Saku began, eyes dancing, “that's not necessarily true. I might have just the person for the job.”

 

**oOo**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The art of Ginyu and Krillen at the start of this chapter was a commission by the amazingly talented Ishida1694 on deviantart. :D


	6. Passive Aggressive Afternoon Tea

**Passive Aggressive Afternoon Tea**

 

 

"MEN!" Captain Ginyu hollerred, striding into the room. "Your illustrious and fearless leader has returned to this putrid den of iniquity. Rejoice!" He paused for dramatic effect. A frown crossed his face like a black shadow when the four pirates merely stared blankly. "What's wrong with you? You appear confused. This is where you run towards me like giddy children."

"Aye, Captain!" the Ginyus roared, scrambling towards him, all except Jeice who was staring at the floor, a deep frown furrowing his brow.

Ginyu frowned. "Jeice, what's wrong with you? Why are you moping like a sissy girl? Don't answer that, I don't care. Get over here this instant. I have grave news about our glorious ship. And by ours I mean mine."

"What's wrong, Captain?" asked Burter.

The Captain lowered his thunderous voice to a more gentle boom. "I believe we are in grave danger. It appears our esteemed host is working all the angles here. Our ship has been overrun with imperial armed forces.” He turned sharply to his gunner. “Jeice, what information did you glean from that sauced old sea dawg?"

Jeice grimaced. “The Saiyan Ambassador's on death row alright, Cap'n,” the young gunner replied.

Burter looked gravely at the Captain. "And we've been set up as the scapegoats, haven't we?” he guessed. “That's why we were invited here and why they've got our, er- _your_ ship captive, isn't it?"

Captain Ginyu nodded tensely.

"S-Scapegoats?”Guldo squawked. “You mean we're going to be framed for her _murder_? B-But how? Why?!" he wailed. "They've been so nice to us!"

"A cunning escape is our only option," said Ginyu, coolly ignoring Guldo's wet sobbing. He turned around, arms folded behind his back like a royal dignitary, and started to pace the room. "Never fear, my companions, for even as I speak your fearless Captain is formulating a brilliant plan! Indeed, my mind is aglow with whirling, evanescent, pulsing glands of thought careening through the ether like a cosmic melod- _oh for goodness sake_. Recoome, stop him.”

“Right-o, Captain.” The large man obediently marched towards the window where Guldo was frantically attempting to scramble onto the window ledge. “Come on, little man.”

“ _Get your hands off me you provincial putz!”_ Guldo screamed, thrashing about in Recoome's meaty hands like a wild cat. “ _I want to die on my own terms! With DIGNITY._ ”

Jeice snorted. “What, with yer brains splattered across Frieza's patio?”

"So what should we do about Ambassador Bra, Captain?” Burter interrupted hastily. They didn't have time to spare for another brawl.

“Yeah,” Recoome chimed in, ignoring Guldo's tiny clawing fists. “We can't just leave her t' die can we?"

Ginyu blinked. "Of course we can, you bumptious tit. We're pirates, not heroes! If you want to be a hero, sign up to the Heroes Guild. There is no room for frivolous acts of bravery on my ship. Pirates are mice, not lions!"

"Er, mice, Captain?" Burter queried.

Ginyu blushed and cleared his throat, slamming his fist into his open palm stubbornly. "YES. Lionly mice!" He turned on Jeice in a hasty attempt to switch the subject. “Jeice, what else did you find out?”

The young gunner told them all that the mysterious Agent Z and the old sea dawg, Rum (who was in fact Saku Ookami, though he somewhat wisely neglected to share that revelation – the Captain could only handle so much in one go) had shared with him earlier that evening. When he finished, he and the rest of the crew looked imploringly at the Captain.

Ginyu stroked his chin. He hadn't had a chance to change his moustache in 12 hours and the perfectly waxed tips were beginning to wilt along with his weary temperament. At length, he said, “Did this Agent Z say anything else?”

Jeice shrugged non-committally, wiggling a finger inside a waxy ear. “Nah, just something something, civil war, something something, end of the Queen's Empire.”

“Hmm.” The pirate Captain paced their lavish quarters, deep in thought. “So we are expected to risk our necks by whisking some spoiled Saiyan Princess off the archipelago?” He grunted and wrinkled his wilting moustache. “Can't say I'm too keen on having a woman on board my ship, but a pardon from the Queen might not be such a bad thing.” He winked at his crew. “We could use a holiday.”

"But Captain," Guldo whimpered, "how do we escape if Frieza has our ship?"

"Ah, that," began Ginyu, with an eerie smile, "is where the King of Thieves comes in."

 

 

**oOo**

** **

 

Ambassador Briefs was not enjoying the garden party. On the whole, she found most social events to be tedious affairs largely attended by the upper class asinine masses who collected gossip like bees collecting honey. Bra could only stand one large ego at a time and that was her own.

Amongst Lord Frieza's fleet of sycophantic grovellers today was the theatrical star of the boards, Ann Azuki, two representatives of Satan Yard (though not the legendary Major Satan himself), and the announcer of the World Martial Arts Tournament whose name currently escaped her, but Bra could hardly be blamed; the man's lime green waistcoat and orange silk puff tie clashed so hideously with his blonde hair, one could simply not be blamed for the mental distraction.

“Really,” she tutted, “some things in this world are utterly indefensible.”

She turned towards a nearby tea trolley, where her two handmaidens had gathered eagerly around, and selected a sticky treacle tart. Pan, the dark haired smaller of her ladies in waiting, was hastily shoving custard crèmes into various pockets hidden amongst her rose-coloured pleated skirts. The girl certainly had a sweet tooth.

“Lord Frieza again?” the girl asked around a mouthful of sugared pastry.

Bra frowned. “No actually, I was referring to that man's hideous wardrobe over there, though Frieza isn't exactly number one on my dance card either.” She snorted and took a delicate bite of her treacle tart. “Mind you, for all that he's a narcissistic fiend and murderer, you can't fault Frieza's taste in fashion. Of course, I have no doubt that is entirely down to Mr Zarbon's fine work.”

Marron lifted a gloved hand to her mouth, smiling coyly, while Pan merely rolled her eyes and pulled gagging faces.

“Oooh, Mr Zarbon, is it?” Marron teased. “My lady, if I didn't know better I'd say you were becoming awfully fond of him.”

Bra's cheeks flushed pink. “Stop reading those penny-dreadfuls, Marron. They're beginning to seriously afflict your mental status.” She took another, more aggressive bite of her treacle tart.

True, Mr Zarbon was smart, reliable and as handsome as they came. They had spent many an evening in the grand drawing room discussing politics and advances in ki-steam technology. But falling in love with the manservant of the person who was currently plotting your grizzly death was all a bit too “Gothic romance” for her tastes. Her peers sometimes wondered if Bra hlad simply been born an old spinster – or they would have, had she had any peers. People tended not to like her very much. She was brusque, short-tempered, and did not suffer fools gladly. It would be easy to blame this on her Saiyan genetics, but her human mother's fiery temper made her father's look paltry by comparison. Her parents were a terrible match, in Bra's opinion. King Vegeta and her mother had married for love, a severe error in judgement Bra would not repeat.

“You sure it's safe to eat any of this?” said Marron, eyeing the silver tray laden with bowls of clotted cream, ginger wine and plates piled high with tarts. “It could be poisoned.”

Bra snorted again. “Poppycock! Frieza wouldn't try poison again so soon after Kold. It's not in his nature to play the same trick twice. Besides, it's not nearly grand enough.” She wagged her fan in Marron's face. “You mark my words, when that stuck up lizard does dredge up the nerve to come after me, he'll conduct a scene fit enough for the Queen. In the meantime,” she plucked a finger-sandwich up defiantly, “I shall enjoy the refreshments.”

Pan grinned broadly, taking the excuse to reaching for a scone and a pot of gooseberry jelly. “Got to admit, he might be a genocidal maniac, but he puts on a good spread.”

Bra arched an eyebrow at the girl. “There's always a silver lining, I suppose.”

Pan and Marron were markedly different from one another. Though undoubtedly beautiful in her own peculiar noseless way, Marron was the daughter of a scientist and a law-man, and as such had lived most of her young life in oil-stained overalls (the very thought sent a small shiver of repulsion down Bra's spine). The girl's blonde hair was cut in a most scandalously modern style, shorn close on one side, and she favoured more a practical wardrobe with plenty of loops and button holes to attach various belts and equipment. Pan on the other hand rather loved ruffles too much. Bra looked at the girl's current rose-coloured outfit and winced. _So many ruffles._

While Marron was wholly human, Pan was at least part Saiyan, evident by the furry tail wrapped around the girl's waist in a tight coil. Terribly unfashionable, but Pan was young and proud. There was a time when wearing one's Saiyan tail around one's waist was all the rage. Indeed, the fad became so popular at one time that men and women of all races could be seen along Unlundun's Snake Place, brandishing monkey-fur belts around their persons and revelling in their brush with the 'exotic'. The fad lasted as long as any fad tended to, however, and soon the bustle came on the scene to hide the ugly appendage - which was precisely why Bra's own tail flicked freely in the air like an agitated cat's. Bra wasn't particularly proud of her Saiyan heritage, not like her father and brother in any case. It was simply that she could not abide being told what to do. It was in her nature to be contrary.

Her brother on the other hand... Bra let out a short frustrated sigh. It was all very well being proud of one's nation and engaging in political activism – it wasn't like she was exactly passive in politics, given the right time, place and appropriate wardrobe – but did Trunks really have to be so uncouth about it? He was terribly aggressive and his conversational inadequacies, sullen disposition and gloominess of spirit had ensured that he be largely ostracised from UnLundun's social scene. To think, an heir to a kingdom and gentleman of unmarried status, and barely even a mention of his name in the daily society papers. It was a terrible embarrassment! How she wished her parents had simply married her brother off to some insipid little aristocrat's daughter years ago. Now they were all stuck with his moody and increasingly more hostile personality.

Bra pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration and carefully scanned the crowds milling around Lord Frieza's grounds. Even more frustrating was Trunks protectiveness over herself. She could not see him amongst the guests, but she could sense him – some way off, yes, but he was here. In Scrum. She bit her lip. The _nerve_.

"My darling little cherry-plum, are you not enjoying yourself?" a familiar silky voice intruded upon thoughts. “You're looking terribly dreary.”

Bra turned sharply to find Lord Frieza smiling at her, a tight, mechanical expression completely devoid of genuine comradely feeling. She always tried to keep her amazement hidden at the mobile chair Frieza currently inhabited, but the invention was a marvellous feat of steam-powered ingenuity, resembling something like a large bronze crab. As much as she detested its occupant, it was impossible not to be impressed. Six jointed legs held the main body of the chair aloft, hissing and groaning as the bellows fixed to the rear forced out little puffs of steam. Frieza rarely travelled without it these days.

“Tea, please, Pan,” she ordered curtly.

The girl jumped, dropping the sugar donut she had been in the middle of reaching for, and clumsily grabbled for the silver tea pot with sticky fingers. Accepting her teacup, Bra gave her ladies in waiting a subtle signal. They bowed deeply and exited the area, leaving Bra to carefully adjust her features to match Frieza's fixed smile with one of her own.

“Not at all, Lord Frieza. I am feeling quite well. At least, not as poorly as you yourself must feel, what with family matters such as they are.” Her eyebrows drew together in feigned sympathy. “So good of you to throw a party in such turbulent personal times. Surely you must still be grieving?”

Frieza did not miss the barbed insult, but he responded with a pleasant smile, which irked her all the more.

“Ah, you know my first and truest devotion is to Queen Dodoria. It is upon my honour and duty as loyal peer of the realm that I celebrate her birthday today.” He took a delicate sip from his own teacup. “And we have so many guests arriving for the charity ball tomorrow night, it's nice to have a chance to mingle in a more relaxed setting.” Frieza's hard dark eyes twinkled unpleasantly. “One last 'hoorah!' you might say.”

“Excessively thoughtful of you.”

“Though I must confess, my sweetest rose-bloom, you have been a ray of sunshine throughout these past harrowing few days.” The crab like chair heaved its heavy weight close enough that Frieza was able to clasp one of her lace-gloved hands between his own. “And I say that with all the sincerity I can possibly muster. Death is such a tediously gloomy affair, wouldn't you say?”

She grit her teeth and hastily extracted her hand from his. “It certainly is tedious.”

Before Frieza could respond to her distinctly barbed comment with another of his sugar-coated threats against her life, they were interupted by the two representatives from Satan's Yard. The first was a humanoid of diminutive size, and wore a deer stalker and plaide cloak. This he dramatically swept aside as he bowed deeply before Frieza's mechanical chair.

"Lord Frieza, esteemed royal sovereign of the Icion realm," he flattered loudly. "Such an honour to meet your most regal personage."

Bra was pleased to see Frieza looked momentarily struck dumb by the man's grandiose introduction. Tentatively, he offered his pale hand. "Er, thank you. How very erudite you are, Mr...?"

“Monsieur Detective Inspector Teirementenpibosshi,” he replied eagerly, taking the profered hand and shaking it vigorously. “But you of course may call me Detective Jaco," He preened. "Oh, and this is my man servant, Deceptedo.”

“ _Officer_ ,” the man corrected in a manner that suggested this was status quo.

"Detective Jaco," Frieza repeated, a small frown creasing his forehead. "Yes, I do believe that name rings a bell. Weren't you involved in that fiasco with the Monster Shark of-"

Detective Jaco coughed abruptly. "Yes well, I er, prefer not to talk about that if you don't mind."

Bra caught the young officer's eye, who shot her a world-weary look. She smiled knowingly in kind. Having been surrounded by egomaniacal characters all her life, the officer's fraying patience with his superior had her full sympathy.

What followed after was the most passive aggressive afternoon tea Bra had ever experienced. She and Frieza traded thinly veiled threats like two lions prowling endlessly around a carcass, while Detective Jaco prattled mindlessly on, completely ignorant to the silent war being fought over sugared scones and weak tea.

"Terribly exciting, this charity ball tomorrow, eh?" said Jaco. "First one I've ever been to. Not that I'm not regularly invited, but, y'know-" He flashed his badge and tapped his nose. "Duty calls. Isn't that right, Deceptedo?"

"We've never been invited to anything befo-" the officer was abruptly silenced by a not so subtle kick to the shin. "Ow! I mean- oh, yes. Absolutely. So many.. Uhm.. Balls."

Jaco beamed at Frieza. "Precisely! We've got lots of balls. Simply too busy to attend them."

"I'm positive Frieza is simply thrilled that you could take time out of your busy schedule to attend his," said Bra, flashing a sugary sweet smile at Frieza.

"Ecstatic," Frieza grit out with a look like he'd just had a tooth pulled. But he was nothing if not a performer. "It is a blessing to see so many new faces attend the Annual Kold charitable event. As you can see, Detective Inspector-"

"Oh, Jaco, please."

"Yes. Well. Philanthropy was my dear departed father's truest passion. And as you can clearly see, it is a passion I share in abundance."

"Oh?" Bra muttered behind her teacup. "I thought your passion was landgrabbing from the poor."

Frieza gave her a smile so tightly coiled he looked constipated. "Of course," he continued " _some_ nations require more aid in the road to civilisation than others. What was the Saiyan literacy rate again, my dear? 20%? 17%?"

Bra bristled. Detective Jaco was nodding along, fascinated and completely unaware that her blind hot anger had caused her to snap the handle off her teacup and crush her jam donut in one, now very sticky, hand.

Officer Deceptedo did, however, seem to notice her distress, for he made a hasty attempt to derail the connversation. "We are most honoured to represent Major Satan on his behalf, sir. Unfortunately he has been called upon to attend the celebrations for Queen Dodoria's birthday aboard the royal dirigible."

"Is he now." Clearly Frieza wasn't too keen on the news that his event had been turned over for someone else, even if that someone else was Queen of the free realm.

"Thankfully, Inspector Jaco and myself had business in the area and were able to come in his stead."

Frieza demurred. "And I'm simply tickled pink that you did. You must regail me with more of your tales sometime."

Jaco puffed up like a blowfish at this rare compliment. "Absolutely!"

Bra's interest was suddenly piqued by the pair of oddly matched Satan-Yardmen. "Tell me, what business could two UnLundun lawmen have all the way out here?"

"Ah my lady, if I could but tell you!" Jaco grinned at her. "It is a long story. My man here and I were on the hunt for the notorious graverobber known as The Hell Hound in the region of the Porridge seas, when we were quite unexpectedly embroiled in a most grave plot of international importance. Naturally I can't say anything, it's all very hush hush up at Satan-Yard of course, never know who's listening, but between you and me, we're on the trail of the rogues who have captured a number of scientists from across the Empire!”

“Sir, _please_!” Deceptedo squeaked, looking horrified.

Frieza's expression had turned stony. “Is that so?” He sipped his tea and assessed the lawmen in a new light.

Bra knew that look. It was a look that foretold the lifespan of Detective Jaco and his officer had just been significantly shortened. She felt a pang of guilt. After all, she had been the one to instigate the conversation. Not that she cared much for the mouthy Detective Inspector, but she rather liked the officer. She excused herself from the small party with the briefest of nicities. Indefensibly rude, but it was all she could do not to tell the Satan-Yardmen to set sail from Scrum immediately and not look back.

She continued through the throng of guests dressed in their summer finieries, when her sharp eyes caught a glimpse of her newly acquired guards. Bra shuddered at the sight of them: they were just so very _rumpled_. The Captain was no where in sight, but his crew were sat in the cool shadow of an apple tree playing a card game, or attempting to anyway, but these attempts were hampered by Recoome who would shout, "GO FISH!" every few seconds, then slam his face onto the stack of cards.

Bra did not feel at ease in their company. They kept scowling at her, particularly the red one, as if she were about to steal something precious from them the moment their backs were turned. She marched towards them thunderously, intent on letting off some misplaced rage. If she could not direct it at Frieza, she might as well take it out on those whom she strongly suspected to be her future assassins.

"Do you call this guarding me?" she snapped tersely, standing over them like a black storm cloud.

The Ginyus blinked at her dumbly.

"No. We call it Snap," replied Recoome, looking at her with childlike honesty.

"I hate this game," Guldo protested loudly. "Burter always wins."

"Not when you cheat, I don't," grumbled Burter.

"How dare you imply such a thing! I never bend rules!"

"Right," said Jeice, rolling his eyes. "You only bend time."

Burter turned towards Bra with an air of unconcern. "What can we do for you, Princess?"

Bra lifted her chin and sneered. "Don't you ' _Princess_ ' me, you witless spoon. You will address me as Ambassador."

Jeice scowled. "I thought princesses were meant to be charming."

She shot him a measured look. "You were woefully misinformed. I came here to tell you, gentlemen, to quit this place immediately. Frieza may take me for an idiot, but I'm not blind and I'm not deaf. I know who and what your Captain Ginyu is and I know you're anything but bodyguards."

"Y-Yes we are!" Guldo stammered. "Recoome! Show her our qualifications."

"SNAP!" Recoome bellowed, slamming a card down on the pile and promptly headbutting Jeice in the face.

"The HELL?!" Jeice wailed, holding his bloody nose.

Burter and Guldo exchanged an awkward glance, then turned towards the Ambassador with expressions of guilt that would have had them dangling by their necks in any court of law.

A smile crossed her lips. It was not friendly. She leaned towards them. The Ginyus leaned back.

"Tell me, gentlemen. Do you know what a Saiyan is? You've heard the legends, I'm sure. Old wives tales of bone-crunching transformations beneath a full moon; a fanged beast ten storeys high, claws that could skin a man to the marrow, eyes like burning coals, breath hotter than Hell, and the strength of ten thousand men.” She chuckled. “Nonsense, really, but perhaps I might remind you..." Her eyes sparked with that same chilling grin. "Tonight's a full moon."

Recoome's bottom lip began to tremble. Guldo swallowed thickly. Even Burter looked a little unsettled by the Ambassador's thinly veiled threat.

It was Jeice who broke the fearful silence that had settled on them. He patted one of Recoome's enormous thighs comfortingly, and sneered at the Ambassador as the large man whimpered. "Don't you listen to 'er, big guy. She's just pullin' yer leg. There ain't no such thing as a bleedin' were-Saiyan. This _monkey_ 's just tryin' t' scare us."

Bra coloured at the insult. "How dare you call me a-"

"Look, m'lady," Burter hastily interjected, "we don't want to fight. We don't even want to kill you."

"Speak fer yerself," Jeice muttered.

"We're as much a victim in this mess as you are."

"Yeah!" Guldo nodded enthusiastically. "We were just brawling outside _The Tilted Wig_ two nights ago when Recoome was shot in the ass with an arrow."

"And Recoome still has the scar to prove it!" Recoome boasted, and started to unbuckle his pants.

"Move another inch and I swear I'll use this," Bra ordered, waving her parasol threateningly in his direction.

Pinching the bridge of her nose (in a mannerism all too Zarbon-like), she took a deep, calming breath. "Gentlemen, if I may- you are pirates. Pirates enjoy thievery, rumbuggery, and the general upheaval of the social order. In what possible universe could I believe you won't cut my throat in the middle of the night?"

The Ginyus exchanged a desperate look, but before the clustered pirates could dig their own graves any deeper, a new voice, deep and commanding, came from behind them.

Captain Ginyu cleared his throat.

"We like bowling, too."

 

**oOo**

 

Prince Trunks and his Saiyan bodyguard, Caithion, were sitting in a tavern drinking, because really, you had to be drunk to stay in a place like this. Trunks grimaced as another violent bar brawl broke out; this one started by two old biddies arguing over whose turn it was to pay the bill. Blood splashed onto their table, followed by a set of dentures.

"Is there anything in this city that makes life worth living?" the young Prince grunted in disgust.

His companion seemed to mull this over for a long while, sipping on a glass filled with toxic looking green stuff, before replying, "The food isn't too bad."

"You're kidding? The food?" Trunks clutched his stomach involuntarily; it gave a gurgling whimper in response. “After yesterday's lunch, I'll never look at a chicken the same way again.”

Caithion cocked a dark eyebrow. “Interesting.”

“What is?”

"That you looked at chickens in a particular way before."

Before he could respond, the Prince caught sight of Saku Ookami. He winced. She was clawing her way through the fighting masses on the bar floor towards them with all the grace and stealth of an inebriated blind hippo on stilts.

"Ookami," Trunks greeted with a nod when she staggered against their table. "Remind me to have you killed for incompetence when this is all over."

"Duly noted," she said. "But before you cut my throat, Princey, you might want to hear me out. I've arranged a little date for you this evening. I think you'll like him: tall, brooding, purple, runs his own business. Makes quite a pretty penny from it, too." Saku scratched her chin thoughtfully. “Well, _other people_ earn it and he steals it from them.”

Trunks had to stop himself from jumping to his feet. “You arranged a meeting with _Ginyu_?” he tried to keep the fury and urgency from his voice. “Are you INSANE? What about my sis- I mean, the Ambassador?”

“Calm down, your Royalness-ness, she'll be there too.” Saku waggled her eyebrows. “It won't be easy to sneak you into Frieza's manor, though. It'll require some... _finesse_ on your part.”

Trunks closed his mouth, but continued to eye the werewolf with silent suspicion. Beside him, Caithion exhaled a puff of thick smoke with an expression that might have been surprise crawling across his pale face, if indeed the spidery Saiyan looked anything other than disdainful. He tapped his cigarette on the edge of the table and leaned into his seat, coolly.

"I told you she wasn't completely incompetent," he told Trunks, who steeled his expression into one of stubborn unruffled aloofness.

"Where is the meeting point?" he snapped instead. “What time?”

Saku smiled guiltily. "Er... About that.” She held up her pocket-watch. “We've got about fifteen minutes."

The two Saiyans exchanged a look, then glowered at her.

"What?" She shrugged. "I fancied a drink."

 

**oOo**

** **

 

Bra was not sure how or why she had acquiesced to this late night "clandestine" rendezvous with the Ginyu Force in her personal Drawing Room. It was hardly as if her last encounter with them inspired any hope. Yet, here she sat at her desk, facing Captain Ginyu across the polished mahogany surface.  
  
Ginyu was flanked by his crew, a bizarre and slightly antagonistic assembly clustered behind the violet silk upholstered Canapé their Captain currently accommodated. Ginyu looked quite ridiculous sitting in the elegantly carved sofa.

He glared at her. She glared right back.

' _Insufferable man.'_

Bra's two handmaidens stood at either side of her, Marron's expression stern and assessing as it ranged over the gathered pirates, while Pan... Bra winced. Truth be told, Pan tended to inhabit her own world most of the time. Right now that world consisted of plum pudding and something smooshed up in a cloth handkerchief the girl had managed to extract from one of the many laden tables at that afternoon's garden party. Bra thought it a shame that such an innocent girl be assigned to this role given the danger, but under all those unsightly peach ruffles was a loyal citizen and a fierce soldier.

She reached into the left hand drawer of her desk. The Ginyus tensed and made ready to spring into action, grabbing for swords and other weapons hidden about their persons. Marron did the same, while Pan stealthily choked on a mouthful of pie.

“Gentlemen, please.” Bra raised her hands; a pocket-watch hanging on a silver chain dangled from her left hand. “I am merely checking the time.”

Captain Ginyu examined the face of the pocket-watch, then nodded tightly, as if to confirm the pocket-watch was not some kind of explosive device. The Ginyus visibly relaxed at his signal. Marron was not so quick to do the same.

“If what you promised is true, my brother should be here by now.”

The Captain snorted. “It's no fault of mine if he broke his neck on the way over here.”

“Maybe Frieza caught him?” said Burter.  
  
“This is ridiculous," Guldo muttered. "I don't get it, why didn't your brother just send a messenger Why does he have to come himself?”

“Because I don't _trust_ messengers,” Bra snapped, her voice steely.

Before another bitter argument could break out, there was a brisk knock from the hallway outside. Without waiting for a response, the door to the drawing room opened and one of Frieza's men stepped in. Bra recognised him as the sycophantic, fish-faced drone named Cui, who openly despised her and her race and made no attempt to hide his disdain, despite being far lower on the social scale. The good thing about Cui's dislike of her Saiyan heritage, however, was that he was physically repulsed by her very presence and therefore did everything he could to avoid her, which suited her fine.  
  
Still, there was no excuse for rudeness. “Good evening, Cui. What can I do for you?”  
  
“The silk merchants you ordered from town have arrived,” he replied curtly.  
  
She bristled. Not even a courteous, 'M'am'. _'Impudent creature.'_ Bra swallowed her stinging pride and nodded. “Bring them in.”  
  
At first glance, neither of the merchants who walked into the room appeared to be her brother. The first was a robust yet rather dashing fellow in a top hat and bright orange, brass-buttoned frock coat. His shock of grey white hair was slicked back off his forehead, which only served to emphasise the enormity of his moustache. Behind him was a girl with curly dark hair cascading in rivulets over a yellow chiffon dress so ruffled it made Pan's outfit look positively conservative.  
  
The merchant girl's ice blue eyes raised to meet her own. Bra froze.  
  
“Your Highness!” The orange frocked merchant swept into the room, dumping his top-hat and cane on a bewildered looking Jeice. “I am honoured to be at your service this evening.” He spun towards the Ginyu Force and clapped his hands together, sharp teeth gleaming in the electric lights. “Oh, la! Am I to believe these are my models? How very...” He looked the Ginyus up and down with an appraising eye. “... _individual_.”  
  
Bra stood and greeted the merchant with a small curtsey. “I am very glad you could come at such short notice. With the ball so soon, we simply cannot waste any more time. Cui, you may take your leave.”  
  
Cui hovered on the Drawing room threshold, warily. “I don't think it's wise to leave you alone. I have orders-”  
  
“Well I'm giving you new orders. Good gracious, I have a veritable army of guards in my Drawing room. How much more protection does Frieza think I need?” She shooed him out the door with one hand. “Off with you.”  
  
Cui gave her a funny little look, but obeyed nonetheless. With a strained half-bow, he let himself out of the room.  
  
The moment the door closed, Saku Ookami swore loudly and tore off her moustache.  
  
“You have no idea how much that thing itches.”  
  
“OOKAMI?!” Captain Ginyu jumped to his feet in fury and unsheathing his cutlass. “You damned devil of a dog! How dare you show your face in my benevolent presence again!?”  
  
“Oh, that's gratitude for you," she growled, dodging a swipe from the cutless and leaping back into a defensive stance (undermined somewhat by her orange frock-coat). “I risk my neck coming here to save your poxy life, and you point that thing at me.”  
  
“I will do more than point it at you, you flea-ridden fury!”  
  
“Captain, wait!” Jeice protested, hastily grabbing the Captain's sword arm. “Saku was the old dude from _The Tilted Wig_ the other night. Yeh've gotta hear her out!”  
  
But the veins on Ginyu's neck were already starting to bulge. “I HAVE TO DO NO SUCH THIN-”  
  
Which was when the Ambassador lost her temper.  
  
She whacked the Captain soundly across the face with her fan. It did the trick. Shocked silence fell upon the room. The Captain rubbed his cheek in disbelief, unable to comprehend the lace-trimmed object that had struck him.  
  
“Now, if you're quite finished, which – believe me – _you are_ ,” Bra promised in low, barely constrained tones, “you will please **_Sit Down_** so that we may discuss our business together.”  
  
Her lung capacity was no match for Ginyu's, but something about her tone of voice and fierce gaze was more far more threatening. For a moment, both Saku and the Captain look liked they wanted to protest, but Bra stood like an army general, arms folded, back straight, and stared the two of them down, which was quite impressive given her small-ish stature. Grudgingly, everyone shuffled to sit on various delicately carved chairs dotted around the lavishly decorated room. Frieza's taste in decor rather undermined the brevity of their situation.  
  
Bra pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. “And for the love of the Moon, Trunks, remove that ridiculous disguise.”

 

**oOo**

 

Frieza watched the city below his balcony, its thousands of lights twinkling like a field of fireflies. It was a pathetic city, really. The only thing of any value it produced was an invaluable source of bounty hunters.  
  
"Can I get you anything, Lord Frieza?" said Zarbon.  
  
"What do you think of the Archipelago, Zarbon?" Frieza asked, taking a delicate sip from the goblet of wine in his hand. "Do you think it a fine place?"  
  
"Er, yes my Lord. Very fine."  
  
"Mm. Forgive me for saying so, but you truly are the most sycophantic twit, Zarbon." Frieza's gaze darkened. "The Archipelago is a joke. A relic of a bygone Empire sorely in need of a face-life. What we need, Mr Zarbon, what the _world_ needs is a new architect."  
  
"Yes, my Lord." Zarbon bowed deep. "If you need me no longer, I shall retire for the night."  
  
"Please do," said Frieza, waving him off casually.  
  
He heard the click of the door as Zarbon left his quarters. A few minutes passed. Then suddenly, there was a flicker in the air, detectable only by the very trained eye. Frieza smiled darkly.  
  
"Hello, Mr Salza." He sipped his wine. "Lovely evening, isn't it?"  
  
The shadow in the corner said nothing.  
  
"Never been one for much chit-chat, have you? I like that. It makes the job run much smoother. And I must admit I do enjoy the sound of my own voice." Frieza chuckled, then motioned towards a chair. "Please, rest your sphincter."  
  
Salza did not move. For a bounty hunter he wasn't particularly overwhelming. In fact, he suited the image of a hero more than a cold-blooded killer. He was of average height and build, with a shock of blonde hair and blue skin. His clothes were loose fitting, the outfit of your average mage. He was remarkable purely in his unremarkability, but Frieza knew you had to be careful of the ones who looked for all intents and purposes normal. Pirates and bounty hunters who purchased magical armour or enchanted swords and wore the teeth of their victims on strings around their necks were a bit like pearls: a piece of shit gets trapped in an oyster and a pearl grows around it, but ultimately it's still shit on the inside.  
  
Salza was the real deal.  
  
Some bounty hunters were renowned by their name, but he was different. Oh, people knew him alright. But those who are very, very renowned aren't mentioned by name, but merely by the raising of eyebrows or the vacating of the vicinity. Salza was more often mentioned by a shudder than anything else. It wasn't so much the number of people who had passed on with Salza's gracious assistance, but the infamous clients he had taken on. He had killed more royals than any Bounty Hunter to date. But Salza's efficiency was not why Frieza hired him. No, the man had a certain quality about him which Frieza found particularly interesting. His face was young and stoical; completely humourless, but it was his eyes that held Frieza's interest for he had never before seen eyes with such focused, dispassionate pinprick pupils. They seemed to stare at, through and behind you all at once; an effect that even had Zarbon feel happier keeping a nice solid object, like a desk or a musket, firmly between them. Frieza, for all that he was a great controller and taker-awayer of life, was also an admirer of character and Salza certainly had character, though most people preferred not to get too close to whatever that was. There were far worse things than death and in his presence you tended to get the feeling those things were lurking just behind his eyes.  
  
"You know," Frieza began, clasping his hands behind his back as his eyes ranged over the city sprawling beneath him, "the true capital of my country is Ice City. A beautiful metropolitan, dominated by our people's fine culture. After the sorry truce with Vegeta, I've found I have less and less time to frequent it. Instead I am sequestered on this…charming little port. Such a plight might make a lesser man bitter." He looked at the bounty hunter, his cold red eyes fiercely bright in the dark. "Tomorrow. At the ball. Do you understand?"  
  
Salza gave a quick nod of his head and turned to leave.  
  
"Oh, and Mr Salza?" Frieza added, his tone once more light and friendly. "Make it messy. The entire city will be watching after all."

 

 

**oOo**

 

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**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr! the-frieza-force . tumblr . com


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